Shadows of Mordheim
by Kyle Travis
Summary: 500 years ago, a comet struck the city of Mordheim, killing thousands and seeding wyrdstone across its ruins. Now men and monsters alike seek these stones which can turn lead into gold, grant immortality and twist body and soul.
1. Chapter 1

**Shadows of Mordheim**

 **Chapter One – A race through dark places**

 _Mordheim, former "Poor Quarter"_

"So what do we do now?" Her voice was soft, worry seeded through every word.

Viktor snarled at her, his handsome features twisted and transformed, "Be silent!"

She flinched back and dropped her head submissively, hiding the sudden hurt in her eyes behind strands of her long dark hair, streaked and matted with still drying blood.

He turned his attention back to the scene below them, his crimson eyes piercing through the darkness and the curling strands of unnatural mist that caressed and danced around the hunters whose own flaming torches fought against them to illuminate their search.

The bio-luminesce fungi that stained the walls of the decaying building illuminated the large room in which the two fugitives crouched with a sickly emerald glow, reminiscent of the wyrdstone that so many sought in the ruined city.

Unknowingly, as he followed the men's careful movements, Viktor's right hand squeezed the snakeskin hilt of his beautifully crafted sword, its crosspiece unsubtly curved into darkly gilded bats wings. The ornate crimson breastplate he wore had several large rents hacked into its side and a neat hole punched into the back from which black blood still oozed reluctantly.

There were still too many to fight and they had not dispersed themselves as he had hoped in their pursuit, clear commands had sounded through the mist whenever they had begun to do so. Viktor had begun to hate that voice, its clarity and determination, the lack of urgency.

He was _definitely_ going to kill that man.

Xx

"They are close."

The captain warned his men, his eyes constantly moving as he strode down the street, his hard, blade scared face only partially illuminated by the blazing torch in his left hand. He was clad in dark leather and like his quarry his body was protected by a metal breastplate, a bright golden hammer inscribed upon its surface, itself wreathed in fading gilded fire.

In his belt were thrust a pair of dwarf made pistols and he held a hammer in his right hand, its heavy head plated with silver like the gleaming spikes hammered into the metal collar about his thick neck. At his left heel, pacing him exactly as he moved was a huge mastiff, armoured with the same style of collar, slobbering anticipation dripping in its wake.

Flanking but a half dozen paces behind him were a man and a woman, both garbed in battered leather armour, a crossbow held steadily by each, shifting their aim as they moved, just like the captains eyes. The woman limped a little, an old wound that burned coldly in the night air, both of them had short cropped black hair under their leather skull caps.

Ahead of the captain was a huge man, his great beard shot with grey like the straggly thinning hair on his head. Deceptively easily he hefted a woodsman's axe in his right hand, its notched but lethally sharp blade gleaming in the inconsistent moonlight. Like his master, a burning torch was held in his left hand.

Alongside him was a brutalised zealot, his near naked body and head a mass of scars and piercings, his right hand hacked off and replaced with a short double edged sword blade. The legend "Sigmar" was crudely etched into his chest in large and heavy gothic letters.

Six other warriors were spread out in the surrounding buildings, moving from room to room in pairs as they had been instructed. One of each duo had a torch to both illuminate and as a weapon against their inhuman prey, after all did not even the most fearsome of animals fear fire!

Even had they doubted the potential effectiveness of the flame, no one disobeyed Captain Lapzig, at least not more than once.

Xx

"Where are they…." The vampire rasped, his eyes roaming across the ruined houses below and the fire lit figures growing ever closer, his fingers drumming lightly on the hilt of his sword.

Suddenly he turned back to the woman at his side and flashed his teeth in a not completely reassuring grin, his mood evidently shifting.

"The last time I ventured into this gods-forsaken district, it was overrun by evil smelling, chanting fools, in fact it was safe to say you could not swing a cat without hitting one of those idiots. A very small cat."

He paused and raised a thick dark eyebrow at her and she smiled nervously in response, unsure of what to do or say.

Viktor's sigh was theatrically heavy, "It seems I cannot rely on the minions of Chaos, my sweet. Perhaps they are all asleep or too busy chanting or engaging in bestial rituals in the semi-darkness. No matter."

He drew his sword with a lightning fast movement that caused his companion to flinch backwards.

"Wish me luck…. and them damnation!"

She did not reply but his smile broadened as she slowly extracted a glittering blade from within her dress and raised her chin defiantly.

"You won't fight them alone." She spoke quietly but her eyes did not leave his.

"Ah my dear, you do inspire me!" Swiftly he pulled her to him and kissed her firmly before further proclaiming…..

"Yet I did not blaze a bloody trail through those slavers, decapitate the very wretch whose dagger you now hold….. to allow you to fall into the filthy hands of witch hunters. No! I…"

He paused in his speech as bloodcurdling, depraved shouts and screeches sounded through the ruins, echoing unnaturally around the room.

"Ah Ha," A fang filled smile and a wink followed, "Well then, better late than never!"

Xx

He had no name for he was but an instrument of the gods, their power surging through his twisted form as he screamed their fury at the intruders from each of his five mouths. He felt the impact of a steel bolt in his feather shrouded chest but it was nothing to one who heralded the new age of chaos.

Blood fountained high as he tore off the arm of a man who had slashed at him with his sword, he pulled the now sobbing victim closer with all three of his heavily muscled arms and savaged him further with his hungry maws, tearing through leather, cloth and flesh and gulping down bloody morsels.

His latest victim slipped from his grasp, collapsing to the ground, twitching and grasping at his mortal wounds. The weapons of his foes were but pin pricks as he stood defiantly.

He had no name for he was fury incarnate, the chosen of the gods and with their favour unstoppable, invincible…..

A noise behind him, a shouted word that was briefly painful and then the world went black.

Captain Lapzig wrenched his gore slick hammer from the ruin of the huge mutants back and spine, allowing the creature to crash to the crimson smeared cobbles. He took a moment to spit on the foul corpse before moving to the next enemy. As he stepped past a wild spear thrust he nodding approvingly at the spectacle of his hound savaging the throat of another fallen heretic, its arms flailing uselessly at the body and shoulders of the powerful beast.

Xx

The followers of Chaos had boiled out of the mist and ruins like malformed insects from a shattered hive. Bellowing and screeching, they charging uncaring onto the blades of their foes, lashing out with weapon and claw alike, tearing down men even as they themselves were cut down.

The conflict was brutal and noisy, blood of several hues quickly coating the already damp walls and floors of the ruined buildings in which they fought. Here a cultist clad in rags slipped and had his throat stamped into oblivion by a cold eyed woman who then barely managed to parry the notched axe of a wide eyed madman as he leapt at her.

There a skulking reptilian thing fell upon the back of a hapless man from a savaged rooftop, clawing through his leather and clothes to get at the tasty organs. He tore free his prize - a still beating heart, only to be decapitated by the precise swing of a great axe.

"Clever bastard." The axeman rasped at his captain fighting nearby. At first he did not respond, too busy ramming his burning torch into the face of another cultist, pushing forward to force the brand down her throat before stepping back and smashing his hammer into her skull, crushing it and sending the cultist crashing to the ground.

"What?" Lapzig shouted back at his second, his eyes assessing the skirmish. The ranks of the damned were thinning and no new enemies were emerging as his veterans began to show their superiority to such cursed fools.

"Our Prey, Captain, is no fool."

His commander grunted in response then whistled for his hound who immediately raised its bloody jowls from the still twitching corpse and began to bound obediently towards him.

"It will still burn." The words were like iron,

The axe man nodded but his eyes were troubled, only clearing when he hefted his weapon to hack down a charging mutant with lethal speed, stepping to one side to take its head with a powerful reverse swing.

The captain raised his voice to a roar, "Finish these scum and burn the bodies, we continue the hunt."

Xx

"Hmm it seems we are running out of distractions,"

Having sheathed his sword, Viktor extended a courteous hand to his companion, "Time to go, my dear." He looked meaningfully at the building opposite, quite a distance away.

Gizela hesitated only a moment before allowing him to enfold her in his arms, the cool of his metal armour unpleasant through her thin dress, her heart pounding fiercely. Then they were moving, a single powerful stride and they were flying through the air and landing heavily on the flat floor of the second story, sending evil eyed crows flying from their roost, crying out their irritation.

The floorboards held, groaning and protesting at the strain, large malformed insects scuttling further into the shadows and an ominous buzzing noise resounded from a huge hanging nest swaying gently in the partial darkness of the next room.

Viktor did not pause or relinquish his hold on his prize already pounding down the dissenting staircase and into the street.

Xx

 _East of Mordheim_

"I am Disappointed." The woman's voice was redolent, powerful and could immediately command attention even in a crowded room. It was not needed here, the room was small and empty save for two walking corpses standing by the door and the man she addressed but on hearing her voice he dropped as swiftly as possible to one knee, pain shooting through his twisted back.

"My Lady?" the slight tremor in his voice drew no smile from the woman as she swept her eyes across his misshapen form. He was heavily built despite the obvious deformity, clad in dull grey and black clothing and patched leather armour, a hefty mace at his belt.

"I am here to speak to your master…..and yet I find him absent."

She stalked closer, the soft silk of her ebony dress swishing as it revealed and concealed almost the entirety of her long ivory legs and the naked stiletto strapped to her left thigh. Fine jewels glittered from her ears, necklace, the diadem that proclaimed her rank as baroness and the glittering hairnet that partially cloaked her night-black hair.

"Where is your Viktor? I require his attendance upon me…Immediately… if not sooner."

Claudiu Surdul had been serving undead lords and ladies all of his life so fear was nothing new to him, he had seen men, women and children devoured, torn apart and drained, sometimes all three. He had seen loyalty both rewarded and spurned, but the lessons his parents had beaten into him held true, he remained steadfast.

"He has business in Black Pit, My Lady."

"Indeed?" Her eyes bored into the top of his still lowered head, letting the silence grow more uncomfortable.

"Then I shall wait…."

Xx

 _Black Pit_

"I am surprised to see _you_ here," the man drawled around his pipe, his sweat stained crimson doublet scarcely concealing his bulk, the candles within the tent flickering off the tawdry gold rings that decorated his fat fingers.

"At least not so soon after that bloodbath in the slave market!"

Dieter grimaced, running a slender fingered hand over his bald pate.

"Perhaps you are surprised Helmut, perhaps you are…..but needs must…." His voice was low and scratchy, the words intoned precisely but with an unnerving lack of variation in tone.

Unlike the merchant he was thin, painfully so, his skin pale and clammy. Again in contrast he was dressed in a simple dark robe, its hem frayed and filthy from the journey to the trading settlement lurking on the edge of the ruined city. Against the central tent post, within easy reach, rested a hefty wooden staff, the metal hinge on the top betraying the blade embedded in the shaft that could quickly snap into place should he need it.

"Hmm." The merchant slurped at a dirty pewter mug as he considered his customers words.

"Do you have what I require?"

"I am not sure it's that simple." The eyes of the merchant flickered briefly past the seated man towards the doorway.

"Really?"

"Uh Huh."

"Helmut, I can speak a single word and flense your putrid stinking flesh from your bones, strip your shoddy misbegotten soul from what's left and bind it to my service for eternity. If your men take one more step towards me I shall do so."

No one moved.

"I have the wyrdstone and luckily for you I will overlook the insult to myself and more importantly my associates if you can conclude our business in the manner of an actual merchant. Now, do you have the items I asked you to obtain?"

The hefty jowls of the merchant jostled as he nodded, his tongue licking suddenly dry lips.

"Good."

From inside his robe Dieter extracted a small bag, the material of its make uncertain to the eyes of the merchant, its surface criss-crossed with faintly glowing runes. Carefully Dieter placed it on the table and waited.

His eyes still fixed on the bag, Helmut grunted and opened a nearby chest, extracting a larger cloth bag that he too placed on the table between the two men.

"You have something suitable to put these in I assume?"

"Yeah, yeah," Helmut reached down below the table for a small, evidently heavy chest. Heaving it onto the table he clicked open the lock, revealing the empty, lead lined interior.

Without haste, Dieter opened the bag and tipped the contents into the chest. A sickly green radiance instantly filled the tent as the two wyrdstone shards were revealed and all those present could taste copper in their mouths, one of the two hefty thugs in the doorway gasped as blood began pouring from his nose and he staggered out to vomit uncontrollably into the street.

In a smooth movement, the dark clad man was already standing as he shut the chest and took the cloth bag.

"Are you not going to check it?"

He shook his head impatiently, "Helmut, _if_ you have cheated me then that's your problem….or it will be."

Retrieving his staff he was already striding out of the tent.

Xx

"We have lost them."

Heike hefted her crossbow on her shoulder as captain Lapzig scowled at the empty streets around them.

Kurt shrugged, his own heavy axe held at rest. "Sneaky bastard this one, but we will get him next time, Captain."

"IT, Not Him - don't make the mistake of thinking we hunt a mere _man,_ we are tracking a monster." The captain did not turn round but continued his glowering vigilance, mirrored by his mastiff.

"….. _You_ should know better than that!"

The recipient of the rebuke scowled at the back of his commander and the woman nearby raised an eyebrow at the big axeman who shook his head silently. They stood silently waiting with the rest of the warband, torches still blazing – holding back the still swirling mist.

Xx

The two ran swiftly through the shattered streets, dodging ruined carts and patches of pulsating, glowing and sobbing flesh that were all that remained of once proud inhabitants of the city. Crimson eyed crows perched atop torn open roofs and huge rats with sickly green orbs for eyes both watched their passage hungrily.

As they passed, a hairless dog with six legs stood growling at the entrance to its lair, gnawed bones scattered at its feet. Behind it were a clutch of yelping and yowling pups, their own deformities only partially hidden by the shadows.

Viktor and Gizela rounded a crumbling street corner, the walls crawling with vast pulsating maggots and were then confronted by the unnaturally preserved corpse of a huge horse, tied atop the roof of an overturned, once proud carriage – it was evident that not even the roaming scavengers would touch it.

They circumvented the macabre sight and pressed on but shortly after Gizela staggered to a halt in the rough shelter of a ransacked and ruined cobblers shop, coughing and gasping in turn. Her guardian too paused, not ceasing to scan the surrounding area as he waited for her to catch her breath.

"We must be going. This is not a place to linger even if were not pursued."

She did not respond beyond dropping to her knees and vomiting.

"My dear….I am so sorry." His voice softened as he shifted his full attention to her, her slim form was only partially covered in the now filthy and torn dress in which she had been displayed. Legs stained with mud and worse, her feet were now bare, torn and raw, her battered shoes long since discarded. He noted she was not complaining but her exhaustion was beyond doubt.

"I had forgotten that mortality is such an affliction." He dropped to his knees beside her, gently pulling her head back as he tore open his wrist, feeding her his blood.

"Fear not - it will not be your burden for much longer."

xx

The clock ticked on, dusty and battered, it's once proud gilding was flaking and the delicate tortoiseshell inlay peeling but it persevered.

The baroness stood gazing through what had once been a fine window, now only ragged shards of glass remaining in the rotting frame. Dried, dead plants in cracked pots sat on either side of the equal denuded doorway into the ravaged gardens beyond, starkly illuminated by the light of the two moons, pale and emerald respectively.

Claudiu waited, listening to the time piece marking the seconds, before he considered it was safe to speak.

"Perhaps you would require some refreshment, I could send for a servant – there are a few remaining….

"Or I could drain _you_ dry, mortal." Waiting was evidently not improving her mood.

"As you wish, Milady." His voice was flat.

"You have served a long time I take it?"

"I have. The young master directly for several years and his family all my life. Seven generations of us have attended upon the family, Milady."

A hint of pride entered his voice as he continued, "There were Surdul's at Drakenhof when _He_ married the Lady Isabella and became our liege."

The Baroness remained gazing at the ruin of the once proud grounds, but she glanced down at the glittering ring on her left hand, its seal catching the moonlight.

"Many lives changed on that night, mortal. Your family choose wisely…." She paused as she turned back to face the man.

"Now tell me again where Viktor is and what exactly he is doing….."

Xx


	2. Chapter 2 - Homeward Bound

**Chapter Two – Homeward Bound**

Strange noises echoed around the hovels and badly damaged buildings that made up much of what once had been the poor quarter as they headed east, deeper into the domain of the Shadowlord – the daemonic entity that claimed Mordheim as its own very own realm.

Small fragments of Wyrdstone embedded were in the earth and broken cobbles, they glistened and tempted, the goal of many who came to the city in search of wealth and power for the stones could provide both. That they could also twist and corrupt both body and soul was for most, more than worth the risk.

Viktor had his blade drawn now, his movements were cautious rather than rapid, and his voice never more than a whisper as they headed towards the tallest building in the city, the still intact Clock Tower. Gizela could still feel the warmth of his blood coursing through her, banishing her wounds and pains as she followed him through the moonlit streets and alleys.

One of the resplendent wonders of the city that was, the Clock Tower could be seen by those approaching from many miles away. At its gilded summit was not only the Great Lady, a vast brass bell created in tribute to the honour of the Countess Steinhardt, but also a telescope where astronomers might gaze up at the heavens. They had seen the comet as it approached but had not understood that it spelled their doom.

The tower complex still stood on solid dwarf crafted foundations but now as it rose towards the moons it was twisted and entwined with great fleshy growths and undulating tendrils that on some nights bloomed with a multitude of vast flowers, drawing in turn swarms of the uncanny insects that now plagued the ruins.

It did however still provide a useful landmark to those who ventured into the city, standing near the south-eastern walls. Occasionally the mighty bell would sound out across the city and beyond, but only the insane could see any pattern or reason to the mournful intonations.

As the two travellers approached they could see that lights burned on various floors of the overgrown building, flickering lamps or fires looking to entice the unwary with promises of warmth. Occasionally grim shadows passed in front of the light, jerky inhuman movements and unnatural protuberances betraying their corrupted nature. As a further warning impaled on posts outside the huge building were skeletons and still decaying corpses - the remnants of previous interlopers.

As the two fugitives paused within a shattered building a heavily built and partially clad figure shambled out of the shadows, dragging a mutilated torso by one already gnawed upon leg and heading for the tower. The creature had a heavy club in in its other massive hand which like its arm and upper body was covered in a mass of barbed thorns.

Then it stopped, its nostrils flared as its malformed head swung round to face where the couple were hiding, snorting loudly. A low rumbling growl issued from its barrel like chest and it dropped the corpse remnant as it raised its club now in both hands.

Viktor did not hesitate or attempt to conceal himself further but rather stepped into full view, his sword to one side in a proscribed ready position. Gizela kept the crumbling wall between her and the monster as she watched her lover square up to it.

"Well my friend, you shouldn't worry, we are not here to steal your meal."

A heavy snort and a pace forwards was all he received in response.

"You can be on your way now." The vampire gestured towards the massive building, although his eyes remained focussed on the creature.

It stared at him for a long moment, assessing the confident stance, the moonlight glittering off the length of his blade and the scent of both of the potential prey. The female stank of blood, sweat and fear but the male, although equally clad in a sanguine odour was evidently without fear and something of the grave clung to his armoured form. It knew that scent and knew that it would be in for a hard fight.

So it retrieved its food and with a final warning snarl it continued on its way.

Viktor smiled and bowed to his companion, "You see…..even monsters can choose wisely it seems."

She nodded but did not return the smile, "…..but maybe we should leave in case he has hungry friends…."

A hearty laugh and he was reaching for her hand – "You do speak wisely my dear, let us depart."

Xx

The door creaked heavily on its worn and rusty hinges as Dieter entered the once proud great hall, the sole guard, in life a fine swordsman, moaned softly as he shuffled to face him, sword in hand, his hollow eye sockets glowing slightly as the walking corpse recognised its master.

"Hello Borys," Dieter patted him on the head as he went past.

Most of the furniture had been long since stolen or burnt as fuel but a battered table had been dragged in, scratching the filthy marble floor rather badly and it now served as a desk for the hunchback who had various unfurled scrolls in front of him, dimly lit by several ill smelling candles. A few worn chairs squatted nearby, their once fine crimson covers torn and stained.

Claudi had looked up from the documents as the gaunt necromancer entered and stalked towards him and now forced a polite smile onto his face.

"Good morning, Dieter."

"Claudi." Barely a nod in recognition. "Where is Viktor?"

"Urghh, you as well."

"Explain?"

"The Baroness Katherina von Dernsbach has only recently left, she was hoping to meet the young master."

He returned his gaze to the fire damaged scroll, squinting in the half-light. "She left disappointed."

"I take it he has not returned since then?"

Claudi paused but did not bother raising his eyes to his visitor as he drawled, "Not that I am aware of, no."

Ignoring the scowl in response, he continued, "So did you obtain what you needed?"

An irritated wave of the hand, "Of course!"

Not receiving any further response, Dieter seated himself with a heavy sigh, placed his staff on the floor and began to clean and trim his nails with a gleaming bone handled pocket knife.

"Do you know what Viktor was actually doing in Black Pit?"

"The young Master does as he pleases, we are not here to question him but rather to facilitate and assist as required."

"I see - were you required to learn that by rote?"

Claudi did not respond.

"Five slavers, about a dozen mercenary scum, three or four others – it was a bloodbath."

"Hmm, indeed – was that so very surprising to you – he is a vampire?"

"Over a Woman!"

"The young Master likes women." A slight smile, "This woman in particular."

"We are not here to indulge him in such matters."

Now the hunchback leaned back in the chair with only a small wince of pain. "Careful Dieter, I have found that our lords are seldom receptive to mere mortals dictating such things."

"I am not talking to Viktor."

"Ah, you believe I will not communicate your words to him, that we are such good friends?" He shook his head, "how curious….."

"My talents are not easily replaced, tell him whatever you wish, I will not be slow in expressing my own concerns to him directly."

"Your funeral…."

"A poor choice of words I think." Dieter rose to his feet and continued as he walked.

"I do not have time for this, I have rituals to complete." He strode from the room.

Xx

Mordheim had stood as the capital of the state of Ostermark and in its vanity competed with Marienburg, Nuln and Middenheim to be the second city of the Empire. The great wealth of the city had drawn avaricious eyes, not only from the rampaging Orcs of the World's Edge Mountains but also the rulers of the other states of the Empire.

Consequently like most cities within the Empire (and indeed the world) Mordheim had been surrounded by tall, hefty walls and was defended further by formidable gate fortresses and defiant turrets dotted along its length. Although many Dwarves found a home in the city away from the wars in their home holds, the wall was almost exclusively the work of human engineers and workers.

When the Hammer of Sigmar struck the city these bastions generally held firm despite some being battered and burned, the curtain wall also remained intact for the most part but small sections collapsed during or shortly after the event. These damaged sections provided yet another way into the ruined city for those who would dare its dangers and they also allowed others to escape its horror's with the treasure they sought.

However some did not themselves venture into the city, instead they preferred to lurk at such egress points ready to relieve the unwary or injured of their good and often their lives.

Xx

Viktor glanced up at the cloud laden sky, conscious that the morning could not be more than a few hours away and they still had far to go before they could rest in safety. Ahead of them was a break in the city wall, the great blocks of masonry tumbled asunder as they had collapsed along with most of a once proud tower.

"There are, I think, four dangerous men lurking in the rubble near the wall – but this is not a threat, but rather an opportunity."

Gizela looked at him askance.

He drew her close, whispering softly, conspiratorially in her ear. "You will need their blood, my dear."

The woman's eyes went wide, then her features were transformed by a feral grin and he knew he had chosen well.

"This is a hunt and I need a lure…" He looked deep into her eyes and saw she understood.

Slowly she stepped back and deliberately, provocatively, ripped her already ragged dress, fully exposing one pert pale breast and met his eyes through a curtain of her hair.

Her voice was soft. "Are you sure I will serve, my lord….?"

Viktor actually growled as his gaze dropped down and then swept back up to lock with her now amused eyes. He suddenly stepped intimately close to her again, his right hand slowly, oh so slowly tracing down her cheek, over her jaw and down her throat, feeling the rapid pulse of her blood.

"We are going to do such wonderful things together." He breathed before pushing her away and slapping her rump lightly with the flat of his blade.

"Off with you now."

She laughed and emerging from the ruined alehouse in which they had sheltered began to pick her way towards the mound of rubble, her movements becoming purposefully less assured as she got closer. Viktor watched her appreciatively then began to move himself, swiftly and almost silently as he gave the breech a wide berth before approaching the still solid walls to its left.

He leapt upwards with a barely suppressed snarl, his blood afire with lust and anticipation of the blood feast to come.

Xx

Following an extensive rummage around his left nostril, Wilhelm had been examining the results with great diligence before he yawned and wiped the digit relatively clean on his trouser leg and returned his gaze back to the gap in the wall.

It remained the same as it had been for the last few hours, empty save for the tumbled stone, scraps of discoloured and faded material and the odd cracked skull or length of well gnawed bone. Still at least they were not stalking through the deadly ruins of the city beyond, there were far too many ways to die in that accursed place.

He glanced over at the other members of the warband, Karl was apparently asleep but given his explosive temper it was unlikely anyone would take him to task any time soon and certainly Wilhelm was not going to exert himself to do so.

Oleg and Hans were engrossed in some quiet debate, seemingly about the relative merits of bow and crossbow from the gesticulations towards the appropriate weapons that each had in their hands. Reluctantly Wilhelm shifted to a slightly more comfortable seating position and lazily refocused on the gap he was supposed to be watching.

Then he saw her and immediately sat up straight, drinking in the vision of dishevelled beauty that was staggering into view, apparently unaware or uncaring about who was nearby. He let out a low whistle to alert his compatriots and stood up.

Quickly he began moving forward towards her, eager to stake his claim.

Xx

Gizela bit her lip as she stubbed her toe again on an unyielding slap of fallen stone, and she sat down on a larger piece of debris and began to massage it when she heard the men moving towards her. She ignored them, she had no wish to see the lust and brutality in their eyes having already experienced similar when she had been dragged off by the slavers men.

Approaching twenty years of age, she had been aware of her beauty for nearly half a decade. She had enjoyed some of the attention, but when her father gleefully proclaimed it like any other good or asset he was trying to sell, she had been less impressed. Especially when she saw the sort of buyer he had in mind for her!

Dragging her away from the city to accompany him on his latest trading expedition to the east had been equally unwelcome, but her mother and her elder sister had both warned her repeatedly about the admittedly unwise affair she had begun with a gallant young cavalry officer.

"Wait until your safely married before you start that sort of thing you little idiot!" had been expressed in a variety of ways. She had been quite shocked at some of the words her mother had used in their last conversation about it.

Distressed but conscious that her quality of life was still dictated by her father, she had acquiesced to his orders and they had travelled to the devastated city. They were not alone, where thousands had perished or fled the aftermath of the comets impact – so now multitudes were equally drawn by the tales of magical rocks that could be found there – wyrdstone – it could turn lead into gold, grant immortality or bring back the dead. Or so the stories went.

Not all who found their way to the city would venture inside to search for the wrydstone themselves, there was need not only for intrepid hunters of the unnatural stones but also those who would provide food, weapons, clothing and even luxuries to those encamped around the outskirts.

Furthermore those who saw the devastation as a direct intervention by their god, Sigmar also made their way in large numbers – eager to experience this manifestation of his power and also to atone themselves by cleansing the ruins of all the unbelievers, heretics and mutants.

Several small settlements quickly arose, dangerous and unstable places without formal rulers or lawgivers except for those with the most power – be they heavily armed mercenaries or fanatical witch hunters and priests of Sigmar. The Empire was still torn between the various contenders for the throne and none of them had the resources or will to police the area, although of course all three sent their own forces to try and claim the wrydstone from themselves.

Protection for providers was limited to their own sword arm or those they could hire _and_ keep. Mercenaries quickly found that robbing unarmed merchants could be just as lucrative as and significantly less dangerous than actually guarding them.

At first distressed by being dragged away from the city (and her lover), Gizela's mood was not improved by the increasing danger, the squalor of the encampment and the prospect that at some point her father would marry her off to one of the most disgusting of his clients…..

…and it was then that Viktor had strode into her life.

Xx

Below him the four men were advancing on Gizela. They swaggering towards her, weapons mostly sheathed or held loosely. At the front was a thin dishevelled swordsman, his relatively handsome face transformed by an anticipatory leer, followed by a pair of slightly overweight men who obviously considered themselves marksmen from their chosen weapons.

The Vampires eyes narrowed as he assessed the man bringing up the rear, apparently unconcerned but his own eyes were sweeping the terrain and his grip on his gleaming axe was firm but not tense. On his left arm he had hefted a large shield – again well maintained. He at least was anticipating trouble.

In truth, Viktor had no actual need for her to act as bait, but it did give him another opportunity to impress.

xx

"Hello darling, you looking for us?" Wilhelm drawled, provoking harsh laughter from two of his companions as the girl looked up at the men.

She slowly got to her feet and backed away a little as she stammered out an enquiry.

"What do you want?"

The inevitable reply was forestalled as a heavy form landed behind him and the screaming began.

Xx

Viktor rammed his sword through the throat of one man, simply in order to get the blood flowing, withdrawing and pivoting smoothly to flick the resultant ichor on his blade into the eyes of the turning swordsman, whose own hand was only just reaching for the hilt of his sword.

He turned again and stepped forward and with a precise strike took both hands off the crossbowman, enjoying the hot blood fountaining across his face and armour, the screaming that erupted as quickly as the blood from the mortal wounds.

The bowman dropped to his knees trying to stem the flow of his lifeblood from his throat, eyes bulging out as he failed and suddenly there was only a single man that stood ready to fight. He roared with anger and came in swinging high, his shield held firmly before him.

Impulsively the vampire laughed and caught the axe hand on the down swing and began to squeeze. Still bellowing Karl rammed his shield into his armoured opponent who barely staggered under the impact and merely increased the pressure on the wrist until the bone cracked, blood and flesh beginning to seep out of the wound. With disdain and unnatural strength Karl was then flung aside landing hard face first onto a large pile of debris, the stone lacerating his face, shattering teeth and crushing his nose as he impacted.

He groaned and tried to rise again but a heavy foot slammed him down again hard, knocking the wind from him. Before he could react, he was lifted up by the scruff of the neck and his head yanked backwards, exposing his neck.

The last thing he felt was sharp teeth at his throat as his strength drained away with his lifeblood.

xx

Wilhelm was still wiping the blood from his eyes when he felt hands spin him round and sharp nails raked across his face as a screaming banshee began to assault him with slaps, kicks and vicious slashes with her nails.

Disorientated he flailed back at her, trying to push her away long enough to clear his vision and get his sword out. She was cursing and swearing at him, something about her father, he was not sure, at this point he really did not care. As he stepped backwards and raised his fist to strike her something hard and metal clad slammed into his leg and he was falling, still suffering under the onslaught of the madwoman.

Xx

Gizela had never felt anything like it, she let lose all her anger, her disappointments, her recent loss and terror in wave of fury. She screamed foul words at the man, words that she had learned recently from her captors and old curses she and her friends had whispered and giggled about in the darkness.

The man fell back and she did not hesitate, following him down and punching, tearing, slapping at him until she began to feel exhaustion overtake her. Panting, his face coated with his own and his friend's blood he managed to throw her off him, only to find a blood slick sword blade at his throat.

Viktor glanced down at the battered man at his feet and leaned a little closer, his crimson eyes boring into him.

"Be still, be silent and you will live a little longer."


	3. Chapter 3 - Refuge

**Chapter Three – Refuge**

The Brinerhof family had farmed the same fields for as many generations as they could recall, literacy not being a priority. As the end of the year approached they had been content, the harvest had been good and has sold for a record price with the influx of people into the city. It had meant that they had even had enough money to buy a fine new cow and several pigs – it was going to be a great new millennium.

Then the comet struck.

It not only devastated the great city and scattered its remaining population, it also shattered the relationship with the many farms that surrounded it. Whilst few of them actually suffered directly from the impact, many of these farmers and their families subsequently fell prey to starving refugees and marauders alike. If that was not enough, Orks, Beastmen and other monsters crept down from the mountains and out of the deep woods – slaughtering and devouring.

Some survived, hiding, fighting or simply bribing some of the less brutal human raiders to defend them against the beasts. It was always a tenuous, dangerous relationship that for many just delayed their inevitable and brutal demise.

Georg Brinerhof was a strong man, his body honed by hard work but he was not a warrior, had never aspired to be - nor had either of his two sons. His wife, Hild was still recovering from the birth of their daughter and none of them wanted to leave their land, and where would they go?

Darkness in varied forms began to overwhelm the surrounding farms and horror stories began to circulate from refugees – one evening they saw their neighbour's farm afire and moving to help found that the farm had been looted by mercenaries, the family slaughtered. Strange creatures were spotted on the outskirts of their land throughout the next few weeks.

Then one evening, hard men came to the door of the house with weapons in hand and cold dead eyes. They left without burning the house, but they beat Georg and the boys, raped Hild and took the animals with them when they finally departed.

Devastated, they struggled on for several weeks until men came again, but this time they left Georg dead with an axe in his head and Hild with her throat cut. Shortly after, the younger son walked into the woods with a hand axe and was never seen again.

Franz was left alive but bruised, battered and heart sick – kept active only by the need to tend to his sister, named for their mother. Still it was likely he would have failed if a young refugee couple had not found the farm, she having recently lost her own child and consequently able to feed the child, once she had eaten herself. Still it was no less dangerous for the night was full of terrors…..

…..and then one morning a polite hunchback came to their door.

Xx

"Where are we going?" Wilhelm coughed and then yelped in pain as Viktor casually slapped the back of his head.

"Why do you care?" The vampire pushed him onwards, irritated by the reduction in their pace, glancing up at the lightening sky.

Gizela said nothing, she had been wondering about their destination herself as she walked behind the pair of them. She was also regretting tearing her dress quite so much as a cold wind had arisen and at the same time the warmth of her lovers blood was fading quickly now. She shivered and rubbed her goose bumps once again, hoping Viktor would notice.

He didn't.

Xx

They arrived at the lone stone farmhouse, the light of dawn anxious to join them as Viktor dragged Wilhelm into the shelter and shadow of the porch. He rapped hard on the already brutalised oak door and waited, only now glancing at the shivering girl, standing alone and waiting for the sun to come up and warm her.

He frowned.

"Who's there?" The voice was male and suspicious.

"Your Lord and Master," Viktor snarled, "So open up!"

There was the sound of a hefty bar being removed and the two were quickly inside.

"Pardon My Lord, but Claudiu did not tell us to prepare for your arrival."

The speaker, Franz Brinerhof, dark haired and nervous looking was still growing into his father's hefty genetic heritage but already the same height as the vampire who shrugged as he shoved his captive into the corner of the kitchen.

"That is because Claudiu did not know." He yawned, exposing his gleaming fangs again and his eyes strayed to the hefty trapdoor in the floor.

"Claudiu is not the one in charge, and certainly not the one who decides things."

Wilhelm's own eyes were darting around the room, assessing and searching when suddenly Viktor was next to him and with a powerful blow plunged him to the ground and into unconsciousness.

"Secure that in the barn." He gestured towards Wilhelm with a metal clad foot and turned back to the doorway, squinting against the light.

Gizela stood quietly, embracing the warming sunrise with closed eyes.

"Enjoy it while you can my dear…." The vampire's voice was a little wistful and quiet enough that she would not hear it.

Xx

The room was clad in torn and faded tapestries, pastoral scenes of peasants in the fields, bountiful harvests and sunshine contrasting with the scene of horror laid out within it. The vicious shard like remnants of the great bay window allowed the cool wind to gust through and the light to illuminate what should have lurked in dark cellars.

Body parts and organs were displayed in carefully arranged piles on the floor or on a pair of once fine dressing tables. Several had labels tied to them, details and commentary inscribed upon them by a precise unfussy hand.

Curled up on a battered armchair was a bundle of dark fur and scars that slowly raised its head as Dieter entered the room. The necromancer ignored the baleful one eyed stare he was receiving and crossed over to a large iron bound chest that lurked in one corner of the room.

"Hello Cat." He called cheerfully as he passed, but he did not risk a hand in attempting to pet her, he had been amused by the injuries to others who had attempted such foolishness.

A series of slight tail twitches and then the heavy bodied cat stretched out, flexing her large claws and yawned, still deciding if she should move from the chair. She was not hungry, indeed hunger no longer had a place in her existence, not since Dieter had imbued the creature with un-life. She still hunted and tormented that which she caught with teeth and claws but the urge to actually devour was gone.

Her eye flickered closed and she appeared to drift into slumber or at least an approximation of something that she remembered but also did not need. Dieter watched her for some time, examining the rise of fall of her body, another apparent affectation.

Quietly he opened the chest and revealed a small trove of books, the small and large, the old and the apparently freshly printed. With some relish he retrieved a slim black volume and settled himself into another ragged but well cushioned chair and began, once again to read the familiar text occasionally casting fond glances at his pet.

Xx

Franz dragged the bound and unconscious man through the mud, his heavy muscles barely flexing with effort. It was a not unfamiliar task and also not entirely unwelcome – this man looked very much like those who had taken so much from him and he would now suffer in turn. It seemed about as much justice as any peasant farmer could expect from his lord and more than many had or would receive.

The barn was not locked and he pulled open the sturdy door with practised ease, paying no attention to the familiar skittering noises, the hisses of the guardians. He pulled his burden inside and quickly secured him, the hefty chains hanging from the beams suspending him upside down, his hands dragging on the straw clad floor.

A pair of pale hunched creatures emerged, curious and sniffing at the air as they approached, long feral faces twitching as they caught the scent of live meat. Although lean, they had powerful sinewy bodies with taut muscles - the smallest of the pair had a large bone in his hand, its length impaled by many sharpened spikes of the same material. As they approached, the slightly larger of the two males bared its fangs in anticipation and hissed at Franz.

He shook his head, "Sorry boys, you will have to wait."

Both made low growls of disappointment and remained where they were, slavering at the potential meal.

"Be silent, the master is here and he wants him kept safe, understood?"

They looked up at the hefty lad and hissed their reluctant understanding before returning to the shadows of the barn where the other members of their sub clan had been watching the proceedings with equally intense hunger.

"Good Boys." Franz smiled at the ghouls and slapped the back of the captive meaningfully, "Don't worry, I doubt he wants anything more than blood, I am sure that the rest will be yours."

Xx

It had been a long hard journey back to Sigmarhaven and all that had followed Captain Lapzig into the ruined city bore wounds of some kind, even his mighty mastiff was limping. Makeshift bandages covered deep cuts and hefty multi-coloured bruises were forming on toughened skin and it was starting to rain when they arrived at the settlement.

Despite its grand name, there was little that was mighty or inspiring about it and certainly it did not provide a welcoming sight as one approached. A roughly hewn but sturdy wooden stockade surrounded the almost exclusively single story and primitive buildings, a pair of equally basically crafted watch towers at the two entrances. One gateway faced the city and the other the greater Empire – both were guarded by a pair of well armoured warriors, bearded and battle scared.

At the city gate, they watched the warriors approach warily. They had seen them leave, they knew who they were, but sword and the halberd were still raised, eyes narrowed as the small band closed. Those who entered Mordheim could return changed in body and soul, once solid comrades and enemies of the darkness could become backstabbing traitors or servants of the ruinous powers.

As they drew closer, the smaller of the two men rang a heavy brass bell and waited whilst heavy raindrops began to fall from the slate grey clouds above. At its sound the returning warband paused and waited.

They all stood in the mud for long minutes until the gateway creaked open and a mail clad man strode forth, the remnants of a recent meal staining the murky surcoat and clogging his fiery red beard. Like most of those that survived, he was crafted by brutal piety and unending hard work, his body a powerful symbol of his devotion to the man-god Sigmar.

As he approached them his blue eyes swept across the warriors, assessing and probing for obvious weakness and taint, his nose flaring in an unknowing snort.

"Wait." He growled to the two gate guards.

Quickly he sloshed over to the captain and stood before him.

"All went well?"

Lapzig held his merciless gaze for a moment than dropped it in submission.

"No, it escaped me."

Silence for a moment as the rain intensified, then the big priest nodded. "You fought hard, that I can see for myself."

The Captain shook his head, ashamed. "I failed, I…" His words were cut off abruptly with the cuff of mailed glove, blood suddenly dropping to the ground.

"Sigmar demands that we give our all in His service, if you have done this there is no shame."

Angrily he brandished the small silver hammer around his neck, its surface gleaming where the rest of his person was stained and grimy and waited as the captain kissed the metal, his right hand tightening around the haft of his Warhammer in case there was a reaction, any sign of warp taint or corruption.

He did the same for the rest of the warband and only when he was satisfied did the gates open fully and the crossbowmen in the tower relax.

"Come now you all need hot food before you cleanse yourselves and pray – get to it and then Captain we shall talk."

Xx

The temple to Sigmar was the largest building in the small settlement and made of stone unlike the smaller edifices to Morr and Shallya that were set a respectful distance away. Within it was crude and spartan in appearance but few who entered its hall felt this was a bad thing, if anything it spoke to them of the origins of their god, his leadership of the Unberogen tribe.

A single large statue of the god stood defiant at one end of the hall, hammer upraised before him and his stern gaze ever upon those who entered to pay homage. There were no seats or other furniture, such things were not needed as one merely stood or knelt before the god and received his judgement or the instructions of those that acted in His name.

At his side, the priest waited, quietly reciting a dwarven war poem, still trying to perfect his command of the nuances of Khazalid, the language of that ancient race with whom Sigmar had forged a mighty alliance that still endured millennia later. A few other warriors stood with heads bowed or knelt on their own in communion with the god.

Wounds attended to and with hot food in their bellies, the warband entered silently and moved to the centre of the room before the statue. Nearly as one they knelt and spoke their own words of reverence for as the priest had told them on many occasions, such things should be projected from the heart not learned by rote.

When they had concluded, the priest stepped forward and brandished his hammer in the same way as the statue above him. All within the building waited for him to speak, for his heavy tones to fill the room.

"These are grim days my brethren, foulness stalks everywhere and taints the empire that Sigmar forged, traitors seek to gift his legacy to the dark gods. By all that is holy they dare to betray all that he fought for, bled for!

The bestial mockeries of man slink from the depths of the forest, no longer fearful of our wrath. The greenskin menace capers again in our lands, daring to return to places where once we slaughtered myriads of their kind. Even the dead rest uneasy, foul sorcery from foreign lands daring to cheat Morr of his due."

He paused and shook his head in disgust before he suddenly bellowed forth

"Will you let this stand?"

A rumble of denial echoed through the hall in response and the priest stepped forward, towards the warband and the other warriors.

"No we will not, I know you are all true servants of the god, that with hammer and flame, sword and axe we will ensure that the Empire will stand eternal, the creatures that seek our downfall, our lives, our families destruction, the ruination of all that is good will find nothing but their own end."

"We will cull the beasts!" He roared, spittle flying across the stone floor.

"We will!" The worshipers called back to him, many rising to their feet as they did so.

"We will slaughter the greenskin!"

"We will!" All were now on their feet, anger in their reddened faces.

"We will send the dead to Morr!"

"We will!"

"We will burn the traitor and the witch, wherever they may be found!"

"We will!" It was a mighty roar of defiance and certainty.

"Good, Good, Sigmar rejoices to see such fervour. Think on it, pray on it and stoke that fury so it cries out to be unleashed upon the deserving enemy. We are His hammer in this world, ensure that it finds its target in the world beyond these walls."

A meaningful look at Lapzig and he turned away and left them, moving swiftly to the rear and to his own quarters.


	4. Chapter 4 - Awakening

**Chapter Four - Awakening**

Franz was happily chopping wood when Gizela found him, he had already cleaned out the pigs and stripped Wilhelm of his rather fine boots and sturdy clothes – waste not want not after all….. The clouds had cleared and the sun was bold and warming on the skin.

She sat on a nearby tree stump and watched him for a while, enjoying the sanity of such normality and the play of fine young muscles. Klara had found her some warmer clothes, taking her gown to be mended with a raised eyebrow and sympathetic eyes.

The comforting rhythm of the axe on wood continued but too soon he paused and glanced at her, smiling nervously.

"Can I help M'lady?"

"I am no Lady," Her laughter was impulsive but quickly faded to a contemplative smile, "well not yet anyway."

Franz simply looked at her, then down at the axe, unsure of what to say.

"Are we safe here?" She looked around at the farmstead, the peaceful scene, the pigs happily rooting in their sty.

He shrugged, "As safe as anyone I reckon. Lord Viktor, he sees to that." He stretched muscles that had began to complain now he had paused and reached for a flagon of ale he had placed within easy reach, taking a swig he continued.

"We serve him and he protects us, can't ask anything more from a Lord can you?"

Gizela nodded, "Are you not worried about, I mean concerned that he is, well – you do know what he is?"

Franz considered her question whilst he took another drink.

"Don't much care truth be told, like I said, he acts like a proper lord and that's good enough for all of us here." He wiped his mouth clean and put down the flagon, eyes locking with hers for the first time.

"Are you bothered then Miss? If so I think you had best decide quickly what you want."

She in turn considered this and as she did so, with a shrug Franz began to swing his axe again.

Xx

"Sir," her voice was shuddering with nervousness as Claudiu surfaced from his slumber and his eyes flickered open.

"Hello Ioana," he endeavoured to pitch his voice in a reassuring tone, despite the dryness in his throat.

The named servant stood near his bed. His eyes focussed on her, slim and reasonably pretty under the grime. Dark haired and diminutive, her large eyes were constantly flickering apprehensively towards the other form in the room, crouched in the thicker shadows by the door.

With a slight groan, he sat up, slowly allowing his torso to emerge from the warmth of the fur strewn bed. Her right hand fluttered at her side and she stepped a little closer to the bed.

"Ah dear girl do be still, there is no need to worry, I am sure Varsius is not hungry."

The lone ghoul ran his small piercing eyes over the girl who shrank away further, only just manging to stifle a scream as it padded forward on its large bare feet, gnarled skin quiet on the wood of the floor.

"Isn't that right Varsius?"

A low growl was the only response to which Claudiu shook his head and waved a disapproving finger.

"You know better than that."

Varsius hissed in response and lowered his pointed head in submission, but his eyes still tracked the girl.

A deep sigh, "Leave us Ioana."

She fled from the room, darting past the unmoving ghoul with an involuntary squeal of fright.

"Please don't terrify the help – it's really not conducive to a harmonious household."

The head swung back from its observation of the doorway through which the girl had ran and he moved closer, straightening his posture as much as he could, the mottled skin rippling around the taught muscles and showing the bones beneath. A line of thickly matted dark hair rand down his spine and his right thigh had a pair of sharpened polished bones piercing the skin.

"Enjoyable." His voice was low and measured, the tone almost melodious.

"Perhaps, but I doubt I will get much work out of her for the rest of the day."

The Ghoul shrugged and grimaced in a parody of a smile.

"I assume you have a reason to be here other than scaring young girls?"

"Viktor."

"Ah the Young Master, where is he?"

"Farm."

"The Brinerhof farm? Hmm makes sense I suppose – what is he doing there?"

A grunt of acknowledgment, "brought live meat." Another unsettling grin and a sweep of a long sinuous tongue around thin lips.

The hunchback looked shocked "Not Miss Dumitrescu!?"

"Male."

"Ah that's alright then."

xx

Klara hummed a tune as she rocked the child enjoying it snuggling against her, squirming slightly in her arms. She placed a soft kiss on the girls head and glanced at the bubbling pot on the heavy iron stove, content with the stews progress. The light was beginning to fade and Franz was soon be back, hungry but smiling as he caught the scent of the food she had prepared.

She carefully stood up and quietly stepped to the lone window in the room, gazing out across the fields towards the woods beyond. Once, months ago she would have felt nothing but fear looking at the growing darkness and imagined glimpsed movement under the heavy branches.

There were monsters in the woods, others lurked in the mountains and some stalked the villages and towns, mercenaries and fanatics looking for an excuse to murder and rape, ravage and torment.

A pair of crouched shapes stalked into view, lean predatory forms moving with lethal purpose towards the boundary of the farm. Klara smiled and waved at them and the larger of the two must have caught the movement as he paused and looked back at the woman before he and his companion loped off across the fields.

Xx

Wilhelm felt awful, his head throbbed with pain and for some reason the world was the wrong way up. There were strange shapes in the shadows, red glowing eyes and hissing noises echoing unpleasantly in his head. He groaned and tried to bring the half dark room into focus, attempting to dispel the obvious hallucinations.

They did not seem to want to leave.

He tried to move his arms but they were tightly constrained behind him and now he could feel the bite of ropes when he struggled. Sweat began to drip onto the floor and trickle down his bare chest towards his throat. Then through the mental fog of pain and confusion he heard footsteps behind him. A futile attempt to twist towards the sound only gave him pain.

"What were you going to do to me?" The voice was that of a woman, stripped of compassion and laced with contempt.

A babble of words came out; a plea for aid followed by a scrambled apology of sorts when the only reaction was the silence of the woman and scrabbling claws in the shadows. He began to pray to the gods. To Sigmar, Ulric, Shallya – any who might listen.

"Why would the gods help such as you?"

A sharp pain in his back and blood flowed. It was not a deep wound, not dangerous, but it hurt.

At the doorway to the barn the vampire paused, the scent of blood rich and heady to his newly awakened senses. He watched Gizela withdraw the knife and inspect the blade, observing the drop of blood as it fell to the straw below.

She continued, her voice flat now.

"Do Ulric or Sigmar really reward cowards who attack women? Do you believe Shallya would grant her divine mercy to such men?"

The woman moved round to stand before him and _now_ he remembered her even viewing her upside down

"No. The gods will not help you. We both know that."

"Please…help me. Let me go."

"No. I won't help you. No-one will help you. Do you feel that – the helplessness, the fear coursing through your body. Do you?"

"Please….."

"Good."

Viktor smiled as she turned to him and ignoring the still babbling captive, made her final decision.

"I am ready, I don't want to be weak or afraid anymore."

Xx

He was no longer wearing his armour and so when her hand trailed across his body it was only cloth and cool hard flesh that she felt. In return his own hand brushed through her freshly washed hair, slowly and with relish threading his fingers through its length before they began to kiss.

Behind them the captive struggled and sobbed but to no avail; this was not the first time Franz had bound a man in this place and he was a careful man.

They had shed their clothes, uncaring of the watchers in the shadows as Viktor kissed and nuzzled at her neck, enjoying her involuntary movements and small cries of passion. He laughed when she suddenly, sharply pulled his own head back and breathed in his ear, "Do it!"

He kissed her hard on the lips and then gently titled her head to one side, then he waited a long tantalising moment, holding her tight and still.

The pain was sudden and real as he bit deep and began to drain her blood, but with the pain there was a wealth of pleasure and she savoured every moment even as she grew weaker, tears falling from her eyes and her back arching against his constraining arms.

Darkness began to eat relentlessly at her vision as her blood began to run out, her limbs losing all strength as she collapsed against her lover. He held her upright and with a snarl tore his mouth aware from her throat, forcing himself to cease feeding before she was completely drained.

Eyes blazing red and her energy and passion surging trough him, he ripped open his wrist and made her drink. At first she feebly coughed and spluttered but he held her firmly until she was drinking deep, her hands now gripping his with growing strength, her nails digging into his flesh until more blood oozed sluggishly around the wounds.

Finally he pulled away, both of them with eyes alight and burning crimson.

"Welcome to your new life my dear."

Xx

 _Sigmarhaven_

The temple of Sigmar did not waste money on grand rooms for those who served the man-god. The room the four sat in was not large and unadorned except for a pair of heavy silver embossed hammers that hung on the wall, within reach of the bearded priest.

Even the table at which they sat was plain and simple, hard, scared and stained wood that would not be out of place in a woodsman's cottage anywhere in the deep Drakwald. Between them were well crafted but solid goblets, gleaming with silver inlay, incongruous in the beauty of their craftsmanship. The priest had poured himself and Captain Lappzig generous amounts of the thick black ale, taking the refusal of the other two with an unsurprised grunt of disapproval.

"Sigmar took drinking seriously, we follow in his path." He intoned as he took a deep draught and enjoyed it noisily. Lapzig emulated him.

Their two guests watched them having exchanged an amused glance. Both were dark, of hair and garment and both had their hair cut short in a similar style. The man was clean shaven whilst she was the taller and obviously slightly older of the pair.

He was heavily built, a match for either of the two warriors that he faced across the table and by the door, again within easy reach by his long arms was a sword. In contrast she was unarmed and unadorned save for a long healed scar across her scalp.

"Morr is by contrast a god who respects a fine wine." Her tone was without inflection.

Silence ruled for a long minute until the two tankards were hammered down onto the table.

"What do you want Helena?"

Her smile was as brief and professional as someone who dealt with mourners - the emotional, the angry and the lost.

"Morr sent us to you for the dead must be laid to rest in his arms, guided to his garden. Those that resist such a blessing must be guided back onto the path, even if they resist."

"The Vampires." Lapzig snarled.

"The vampires. For wherever they roam necromancers and other such fools who disturb the dead follow them. This cannot be allowed to continue, Kurt."

"They will be destroyed wherever we find them." The priests tone brooked no rebuke.

Helena nodded, a sympathetic expression suddenly arriving.

"…..and in that we all do the gods work. I would ask that you allow us to assist you in this holy task."

"What makes you think we need help?"

The man's voice was cooler than his companion, deep and measured. "I am the blade in the hand of my God, you are the hammer of yours – we should work together."

"I have experience with vampires, I have put several to rest and my blade is consecrated not only by the god but it also bears the rune of a dwarf rune master to aid it in its task."

Both of the other two men sat up straighter and Lapzig rasped, "Show me!"

The knight glanced at Helena, who nodded and he stood to retrieve his sword and brought the black leather scabbard into view, it was unembellished save for a beautifully depicted golden raven.

He drew the sword slowly until its full length was revealed to the ravenous gaze of the two devotees of Sigmar.

"This is the Black Rose."

It was a simple blade but crafted with the skill of the dwarves, every inch a reflection of decades, perhaps centuries of practice and hard earned skill. There were no jewels or ornamentation save for a golden rune that blazed bright on the metal, overwhelming the light of the candles in the room.

"It is a bane to the unhallowed dead and we are both at your disposal."

Xx

"That went well." Helena commented as the two of them headed back to their own domain, "and we didn't even have to drink any of that swill."

The knight smiled and nodded, "it can be a trial dealing with the uncivilised, hmm perhaps we should have brought a bottle."

A pair of burly warriors stepped out of their way as they walked, giving them a wide berth which they two barely noticed, taking it as part of their due as guardians of the dead.

The entrance to the temple was without a door, it had two fine stone pillars on either side of the dark unlit void, one white the other ebony, a reflection of the duel nature of the god.

Once within the cool darkness they moved easily through the main passage until they reached the great alter to Morr, the bier in front of the stature of the god was currently empty and both spent a few moments paying their respects before they moved to the private quarters.

At the threshold of her own room Helena turned to the knight, "I have a fine Tilean white that should not be broached alone."

He paused in turn and smiled again, "it would be my pleasure."

Xx

"A holy runesword…. I could do much in His name with such a blade."

Kurt shook his head, "Did you not hear the words that were spoken! – it is in the service of another god."

The captain dropped his head, abashed as the priest continued.

"Use this knight as you would any other weapon in the righteous fight. If however he should fall in his holy work then it's obvious that Morr _and_ Sigmar have seen a more worthy recipient of that blade."

Xx


	5. Chapter 5 - Bound by Blood

**Chapter Five - Bound by Blood**

"Where are we going?"

"To my country seat."

"Really?"

"Yes." He paused and gave a crooked smile, "I am a Lord after all."

Gizela returned the smile even though her mouth still felt wrong and as he looked away towards the door, yet again she swept her tongue around inside, still adjusting to the hidden blades in her mouth, how they moved, slipped in and out of her gums. She was still a bit worried it had changed the shape of her rather fine mouth, but course poor Klara did not have such a thing as a mirror!

"We have a carriage?" She brightened visibly, her mind flickering back to their recent and brutal race through the city.

Viktor frowned as he turned back to her, "well not as such," he hesitated at the slight look of disappointment he received in return but quickly his eyes lit up again.

"We can hunt on the way."

"Really?" Her tone was not as enthusiastic this time but he did not seem to notice.

"Yes it will be glorious fun."

"Horses? It's been some time since I rode to a hunt." Gizela sighed hoping he would not realise that she had never actually done so – merchants daughters were not usually invited to undertake such things unlike the scions of nobility.

"I am afraid I never really mastered the bow either I am afraid." She had at least tried to do so…..once.

He laughed, "My dear, you can use weapons if you so choose, but you don't need them any more than you need a steed – you can run as fast as a horse if you try hard enough."

The girls eyes were wide now and he shook his head, "This an opportunity to test yourself, experience what you have become, embrace your power.

"IF you say so…."

He took her hand and drew her to him, hearing her heart beat faster as he did so, her flesh now as cool as his. Gently he traced her cheek and lips.

"We need to warm you up, get some blood into you."

 _Hmm, now that does sound good, in fact better than good._ "Lead on my lord, I am entirely in your hands…"

Xx

"Do you actually know where we are?" The voice echoed around the room, bouncing off the rooms and uncannily echoing out into the dark street beyond. Several huge pulsating grubs on the far wall quivered in response to the unusual noise and a chorus of chittering noises sounded out as a pair of far too large cockroaches moved across the half open shutter and out of the room.

"We are in the merchant's quarter master," the response was much quieter, a respectful but cautious whisper in heavy contrast to the announcement of the young lord.

"Ah good." A brief pause. "Is that where we are supposed to be."

"Yes master,"

"Splendid."

"What's happening, Cas?" A second equally loud young man strode into the room, dressed in fine and flamboyant silks that were more appropriate for a court dance than braving the perils of city of the damned.

"Don't worry your pretty head, Wadim, we are nearly there." Caspian smiled at Dregiez who quickly realised that he was looking for confirmation.

He cleared his throat, "It is still a little way, master."

"Off we go then," Caspian called loudly and a pair of heavy set ghouls padded in, sharpened bone daggers clasped in a long talon tipped hands, crusted with filth and blood. They hissed at him and he frowned, turning to Dregeiz to translate.

Mentally he shrugged, "They are ready my master." Well he thought that was they meant, they certainly looked it.

"I still say they should bow to us." Wadim pouted and waved them away with a perfumed glove.

The lord laughed and clapped Wadim hard on the shoulder, "they are just beasts, what can you expect!"

Dregiez counted to ten in his head, wishing he had had the same luck as his cousin in finding a vampire master with some actual intelligence. He half suspected that the ghouls in his service felt the same but they kept their own council for the most part.

"The Baroness was quite specific on the books we should obtain, my master and it is not too many hours till dawn."

Both the vampires looked at him in irritation at the mention of the sun rising and he sensibly dropped his head in submission even as Wadim's hand danced restlessly across the hilt of his rapier. Caspian whistled again and this time a ragged looking wolf arose from where it had laid silently in the corner, the stench of decomposing meat growing as it moved closer.

The small group moved out into the mist, the two vampires chattering as they strode uncaring across the street, although even they avoided the pulsating mass of jabbering flesh and faces congealed to the wall of a near intact town house. The wolf stared at it for a moment as it mouthed unknown words before it followed its master.

Dregiez hefted the sturdy mace he preferred and the heavy metal shield that had already saved his life on three separate occasions in the last month. One of the ghouls lopped off ahead and the other began to scramble up the side of building, grunting and hissing as it did so.

A sickly green glow drew the man's attention of the corner of the building where a small fragment of wyrdstone rested, apparently unnoticed by previous warbands. Dregiez smiled and trotted over to where it lay but as he reached for it, the ghoul let out a screech of pain and suddenly came hurtling down to land messily only a half dozen feet from him, bones shattering and blood lashing out all around as it twitched and convulsed in its death throws.

The roar of a pistol sounded just after and Dregiez felt the brutal pain of its impact as it tore through his boiled leather and cloth armour to plough through his flesh and into the wall behind him. He grunted in pain and cursed as he looked for the shooter.

Emerging from an alleyway and the doorways of ruined buildings were a strong force of men and a single woman, grim and battle scared as they moved through the clinging mist, weapons raised and ready. Very nearly as one they began to recite an invocation of praise to the man-god of the Empire, calling upon him to witness their judgement on the damned. Up ahead and unseen the other ghoul screamed in agony as heavy hammers crushed and pounded it into oblivion.

Wadim laughed and leapt forward, his rapier drawn in one inhumanly swift movement but he was matched by another who stepped out of the shadows, a gleaming sword hammering into the lighter blade without mercy, knocking the vampire off balance for a moment. The rune on the sword suddenly blazed into life as the darkly armoured knight moved to press his attack.

Caspian shouted a warning to his favourite but it was too late. Wadim snarled a curse at his attacker and lashed out with his blade, lancing it into and through the heavy armour. The knight pivoted swiftly and snapped the blade with a growl of pain before turning back and swinging his runesword at the chest of the vampire.

The enchanted steel tore through silk and undead flesh alike, cutting Wadim fully in half even as he ignited. A bright flare of cleansing fire and he was gone, mere ashes merging with the mist.

"Bastard." The remaining vampire drew a pair of jewel handled daggers and backed away, his wolf interposing itself between him and the advancing warband. A crossbow bolt impaled itself in the left eye socket of the undead animal and as it staggered, several men charged forward and with hammers and axes began to pound and tear it apart.

"I name you Unclean and Damned. Face us and the judgement of a god." Captain Lapzig boomed, spittle flying with his righteous hatred.

"Gods…" Francesco's voice was quiet as he watched the men of Sigmar move to surround the vampire.

Dregiez had already measured the power of the enemies before him and as quietly as he could he shuffled into the nearby doorway and from there he paused, his breathing shallow as he regained control. His shoulder still throbbed with pain, but he discarded the feeling as he focussed on once again, surviving.

He clutched the wyrdstone to him, embracing its malign glow and praying to whatever would listen for salvation.

Xx

The night hunt had been long, exciting and invigorating to them both, Viktor had cajoled and challenged her as they ran, taunted and excited her as they pursued and slew a great stag in the deep woods. Its blood was rich and heady, filled with the vigour and strength of a beast in its prime and they imbibed it like a fine wine.

Then they ran on.

A pack of beasts intercepted them in the same woods, strong and stinking, baying out their own lust for blood in the service of their own god. Their horns were heavy and twisted in the shape of his own symbol, their filth and blood matted fur flecked with brass runes melted into their flesh as a divine gift.

At first Viktor protected her, breaking bones and tearing out hearts as they fell upon them, shielding her from slavering jaws and blades alike with his armoured body. Yet quickly he saw she was in less danger than he expected as she dodged blows and lashed out in response, tearing out a throat here and wrenching off an arm there.

He smiled and watched his lover for a moment, proudly drinking in her murderous movements and for his hubris a heavy gnarled fist hammered into his face, crushing his nose and sending him reeling back.

The Alpha of the pack was enraged and followed up his first punch with several more as he bellowed his unsated ire, the meat and bone of his fists deforming and denting the metal armour and undead flesh… But he was alone, his pack were slain or dying….. and Viktor was not.

Gizela leapt on the beasts back and began to tear and shred his face before he flung her from him, slamming her into a tree, making her scream in agony as a branch impaled her leg and another her right arm. The beastman threw back its blood drenched head and roared and turned back to its initial prey only to receive an iron hard fist to the face.

The two of them stood defiantly exchanging blows, striking each other like anvils, swaying back with the brutality only to plunge forward again and hammer home another blow. Blood flew as flesh and bone was sundered and split but it quickly reformed and was cleaved again.

Sobbing with pain, Gizela levered herself off the wood and dropped to her knees, feeling the gaping wounds healing, bones shifting and resetting. A beastman pawed feebly at her, gasping out its hate as it tried to raise a blade with its trembling right arm.

She grabbed it and tore into its throat with her fangs, coughing as the hot blood nearly burned her throat, its vital fury nearly choking her but also sating her hunger for the time being, her wounds closing faster now as she rose to her feet and charged at the creature threatening her lover, the drained beastman's curved blade in her hand.

There was no skill in her first strike, no style or finesse in the long swing she took or the scream of anger she let out as she did so. The sword struck but not cleanly, tearing through flesh but glancing off the heavy bone of the Alpha's shoulder. A blow it barely noticed.

A pause, punctuated by the sounds of the two combatants as she braced herself taking the sword in both hands and watched their brutal dance, this time gauging the right moment to bring the blade up high and then down fast and straight upon the rune crested head.

This time it bit hard and deep into the armoured skull, the metal blade propelled by the unnatural strength of the young vampire, her blood singing with the still raging infusion from the mortal slave of the Blood God. The Alpha tried to turn, but one arm had already gone limp as its brain was sawed in twain, as she kept grinding the blade down.

As the beastman dropped heavily to its knees, Viktor began to slowly applaud.

Xx

Beyond the physical world was a realm of madness and beauty, where physical laws and time itself were nothing more than amusing ideas that could be imposed or ignored as the powers within that realm desired. The mortal realm intersected with infinite in many places, some fixed, others mere transient moments from its perspective.

Some called it the warp, others heaven and or hell or even the realm of dreams – it was all these and more.

The entities that dwelt within the infinity of possibilities were in turn, many and varied, in nature as well as power – many gorged themselves on the emotions, thoughts, dreams and musings of the mortals, such things naturally drifting into and through the realm. Others consumed the souls of those fleshlings that perished and had no protection from greater powers within that realm.

Some served as emissaries of the powers, were simply passing whims that were created and discarded or briefly fashioned and set upon tasks that might be of the greatest importance or pointless, forgotten caprices. A flicker of energy that the mortals referred to as a Daemon.

One such being was drawn to an intersection where speck like extrusions of the warp had fallen upon a dwelling place of the mortals. The pleading of one of those strange creatures whose existence was so unnatural and unlikely to the daemon, full of potentially intriguing sensations and desires.

So limited was their little world that even such a minor daemon could grant the mortals desire.

Xx

It was near midnight on the next evening when Viktor and Gizela arrived at the mansion, laughing, flirting and full of blood. They could see candles burning brightly in a number of rooms as they approached and outside the crumbling grandeur of the entrance was a carriage, a fine pair of sable horses standing motionless before it.

Viktor paused, in vain he examined the vehicle for a coat of arms or other insignia and as he did so the driver turned his head slowly to look upon him in turn. The man was hooded and cloaked in thick heavy dark wool against the cool wind and the threat of rain that hung in the moons lit clouds above. He nodded his head slowly in a gesture of respect to the young vampire lord.

"Is that yours?" Gizela enquired brightly, on tip toes peering over her lovers shoulder.

"No it is not."

"Oh." She smiled at him. "Do you often entertain?"

He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Seldom until I discovered your charms, my dear." She laughed again as he kissed her hand, then moved upwards to her lips.

A discrete cough sounded from nearby, then without reaction a much louder one.

Claudiu gave up on subtly. "My Lord, Miss Dumitrescu!"

They parted reluctantly, Viktor glaring at his man but before he could express his outrage, Claudiu continued.

"Master, the Baroness Katherina von Dernsbach has come calling on behalf of Drakenhof. She has been waiting for some time for your return and is anxious to see you."

Viktor considered this for a moment, controlling his annoyance.

"Well then, I would be remiss in making her wait any longer."

He ignored the palpable relief in his servant's expression and hooked his hand into his lovers arm and together they began to stroll towards the mansions battered looking doors, the two undead sentries as either side of it moaning softly at their approach, a warning or perhaps a plea for release.

Gizela paused, staring at those who had once been men, both were heavily built and clad in the foul ragged remnants of their clothes. Each held a weapon in one hand and a sturdy shield in the other, almost as if they remembered what to do with them.

She stepped closer to the larger of the two and stared deep into its milky eyes sockets, ignoring the worm that was half buried in one and burrowing deeper. The dead man was without a jaw, his mouth just a gaping hole with a few teeth still clinging stubbornly to the black meat of the gums.

"I can feel him."

Viktor stood watching, arms folded, a slight impatience beginning to move across his face.

"Borys? I am not sure anyone wanted to do that even when he was alive."

The woman shook her head, "that's not what I mean…. I…."

"Yes, yes, you can feel the energy that awakens, commands his form and imbues him with the spark of un-life." He clapped the corpse on the shoulder in a friendly manner. "Splendid!"

He stepped away, still talking to her "Now I know it's all very exciting but we must see the Baroness. Come!"

Imperiously he threw open the doors and strode in without further words.

Gizela lingered, continued to stare at the dead man.

"It can be overwhelming, Miss." Claudiu addressed her even though she did not turn. "The transformation I mean, take your time and be careful."

She touched the dead man's face, her eyes drifting into the other, seeing the strands of _Shyish_ curling around and through the corpse that walked.

"If I can be of assistance, can offer words of advice… please do not hesitate to call upon my services – I am here to assist."

Finally she turned to face him, her eyes enquiring.

"If I might impart a few words of advice before you meet the Baroness."

She nodded and gave him a brief smile of thanks.

Xx

There was a fire burning in the ornate stone fireplace, a roaring blaze that sent shadows dancing around the room, disdaining the feeble attempts of the numerous lit candles to compete. A girl was draped across a settee, pale, drained and lifeless, discarded like the bottle of claret that sat empty on the rotting side table.

The Baroness stood watching the fire, like a marble and ebony statue draped in silk and jewels.

Viktor's gaze flickered across her, unnatural senses alert and probing at the flesh and soul of the older vampire. He noted the diadem that caressed and confined her hair, the style alien to the Empire, from lands far to the south that were no longer the domain of mortal men. She wore only a single ring but it was redolent of power, a heavy seal set upon it, the symbol of Drakenhof and Count Vlad von Carstein.

"Baroness, I would have welcomed you to my home…"

"IF you had been here…."

"Perhaps if I had had word of your impending arrival?"

Suddenly she was standing before him, crimson eyes level with his own. It was only with some effort he held his ground and matched her gaze.

"I grant you the honour of my presence, young lord, do not seek to provoke the lioness or she might devour you."

He made to speak and a slim pale finger on the lips silenced him even as Gizela entered the room.

"Now I see why you have neglected your duties." She leaned in and whispered viciously in his ear. "I could end you both for such disrespect to your liege."

He tried to move but he could not, his body fixed by her scornful gaze. "Stay still and silent!" She breathed and stepped away towards the now nervous looking girl.

Gizela dropped into a low curtsey, eyes kept down. "Baroness, it is an honour to meet you." She did not rise.

"True." Katherina looked down on the head of the girl still genuflecting before her.

"Exactly what manner of creature has Viktor chosen to bestow such a gift upon, a gift that others may spend decades in service to obtain, that some have spent fortunes in a slim and unfilled hope that they may ascend beyond their mortality."

She lifted the girls chin up with an ungentle hand.

"What is your pedigree, girl?"

"I am the daughter of Franz Dumitrescu, merchant of Altdorf. I may not be of noble birth or claim lineage back to those who rode with the man-god but _I am_ who Viktor has chosen, bound by love and blood. You may end us, but you may not change that."

"A fine speech my dear, a fine speech." A cool smile as the Baroness continued to assess Gizela.

"You are fortunate that I am not here to police the bloodlines of the von Carstein's, a much larger concern of theirs and something that I am sure Viktor has taken the time to explain to you?"

She could see the confusion and doubt in Gizela's eyes and her smile grew a little more as she turned away.

"No? Well I suggest that you enquire further before you meet others of his line. Now run along, Viktor and I have important matters to discuss."

Xx


	6. Chapter 6 - Preperations

Chapter Six – Preparations

Finally the knight rose silently to his feet with a brief nod of respect to his god.

"It went well?" Helena enquired, her voice not loud but with the clear cadence of one accustomed to public speaking.

Since she had entered the shrine she had carefully refrained from speech, waiting silently for several long minutes as he prayed, kneeling before the effigy of the god. Her lips had mouthed the same familiar words of piety, drawn the same comfort and certainty that doubtless he was gaining from his communion with their god.

Francesco nodded again and looked down at the sheathed blade before him. As was required, he had carefully cleaned and polished before he had lain it before his god and knelt to make his obeisance. His face was a mask of cool reflective peace as he turned to her and spoke.

"We put them all to rest. Ghouls, the shambling corpses and of course the vampires. It was a good night's work."

"But not the last." Her voice was filled with certainty.

He paused, considering the words and their implication before replying, "No, the city is well named and the work will be long and hard…..likely bloody as well."

A slight smile cracked the mask, "I intended no irony."

She laughed as she moved closer and patted his arm lightly, "it's such a joy to have someone with a sense of humour in this place – you have no idea who unrelentingly pious the followers of Sigmar are."

"Ah but I just spent a night with them," he sighed theatrically, "It is true that they are so _very_ earnest, but they mean well."

Again she nodded, but now her own smile slipped away.

"Perhaps, perhaps but in truth I do worry that as the world turns to darkness, they are becoming as fanatical as the enemies of gods and mankind."

A shrug. "They are a young people, he is a young god." He turned back to his blade and bent easily to retrieve it, "it is up to us to set an example – in His name."

"The joys of life are nothing without the peace of death." She intoned as she would at a funeral looking up now at her god.

"No they are not." He nodded, raised a dark sculpted eyebrow and continued.

"However, perhaps we should celebrate the joy of life together as we would celebrate the peace of death."

"Such poetry." She raised her eyes to the sky.

"Oh hush." And before she could speak further he silenced her with a kiss and pulled her towards his room.

Xx

To a daemon the physical world was severely limited, but now the neverborn entity was finding that had its own enticements. It had extruded a part of itself into the mortal that had drawn its attention and it was spreading its influence and consciousness throughout the creature. It probed and searched, investigating the varied sensations that it was generating by doing so, experiencing the emotions of its host.

The idea of time and urgency was intriguing and fresh, in contrast in the warp where past, present and future were not concepts that held sway or even had true meaning. What could be called the daemons mind could recall this encounter as well simultaneously anticipating it happening and enjoying the actual experience of it occurring. All was one and the same to the daemon.

Even its own sense of mild confusion as the rules of the material realm tried to impose upon it was amusing to the daemon. The creature that it had infested and with a little effort had concealed from its fellows had a variety of time based imperatives flashing through its mind as well as a growing need to move to another physical location.

Basking in the rush of emotions as well as the physical sensations, the daemon decided (and recalled having decided and would eventually make the decision) to let the mortal entity to move as it willed.

After all, it could take full control whenever it wanted – and would and had always had done so.

Xx

"Your presence is required."

An unwelcome interruption, an annoyance that he should have moved beyond by now.

The necromancer had allowed himself to sleep, cast off his safeguards and protections against such a dangerous state and moved to explore what his unconscious mind could discover from the familiar words in that treasured journal. He had focussed on a specific passage.

"…. _the Corpse Geometries will bend and slide into formation for the dead, binding the fires at the poles and snuffing the stars themselves….."_

Dieter had always considered that the genius of Nagash was that he did not seem to be constrained by anything, if the world was not to his liking – he would reform it so it was. If the living were against him, well then they would serve him in death. It was simple, precise and inspiring. Even the gnawing, constant threat of Chaos was something that could be dealt with – if you had enough knowledge and power.

Slowly, reluctantly he opened his eyes, disconnected from the visions of the world that could be, that the writer had been contemplating, the truths of the Great Necromancer himself. He seriously doubted that Nagash tolerated such disturbances, even in his early career – whatever that had been.

Reluctantly he focused on the doorway where Claudiu crouched, petting the cat, which was responding as it thought it should, arching its back and making an approximation of a purring noise. Dieter watched them for a moment, vaguely interested in why she responded as she did to that specific man when anyone else would have been screaming in pain as she clawed at them.

Dieter knew because he had witnessed it enough times – it was not enough to speculate, one must prove ay theory, even if it resulted in injury or death.

"Who requires me and why?" He snarled, feigning annoyance, even though he had a fair idea of who it might be.

Claudiu straightened up as well, slowly and painfully, despite a plaintive noise from the cat. "The baroness has returned and is waiting."

He gave a slight unfriendly smile "….and waiting is, as you know, not something she enjoys."

The necromancer laughed and rose to his feet, "it was not I that displeased her before, Lackey."

In response the accused simply turned away, throwing a last comment as he did so. "Your chance to do so now then…..."

Xx

They gathered around the hunchback's desk upon which a parchment map had been unravelled, its faded and battered state a fair reflection of the once proud city of Mordheim. Viktor and all those who served him, the living and the dead with their own sentience stood about it watching as Dieter intoned the ritual.

To one side stood a slight figure cloaked and hooded, silent and unmoving since they had entered with the baroness. Occasionally the candle light glittered off a silver mask, but not enough to discern features, even for those with inhuman senses.

The necromancer's slender right hand was passing over the chart in precise controlled movements as he chanted. His left hand held a silken handkerchief, bight crimson in colour, part of a flowing monogram redolent in the corner of the material.

He concluded and stepped back, his pale skin flushed with arcane effort.

"Well?"

"He is not in the city, Baroness."

She looked at him, noting the definitive intonation of his statement, "And?"

"He _was_ there last night, I could register his presence and even that of his companions, despite the best efforts of the city to prevent it."

Dieter paused but no recognition of his exertions was forthcoming.

"But then he was destroyed there in the city, with almost all that accompanied him."

"Who survived?" Viktor was quick to ask.

The Baroness spoke immediately after, "more importantly who destroyed Caspian?"

"I do not know who – but the raven god was a part of it."

Viktor cursed, "As if the fools who follow the Heldenhammer and the dark gods were not enough, now we are plagued by the corpse watchers as well. This must be answered in kind!"

"Who commands here?" A softly voiced enquiry.

A glance towards her "You do my lady," reluctant but definite.

"I will say this once and no more, for clarities sake." She slowly raised to her hand to display the single ring, moving it in a half circle so all could glimpse its glittering sigil.

"By this you _**know**_ that I am the anointed vassal of Count Vlad, his agent, his eyes and ears in this place. My words resonate with his power and will be obeyed, my instructions will be followed as if he gave them himself. In his name I will reward those who serve well and punish those who fail me."

Her voice rose and hardened, "Do you all understand?"

There was no hesitation, all quickly confirmed their acquiescence.

"Good. Now kindly refrain from interrupting me again."

She impaled Dieter with her eyes, "what else did you see?"

"They were taken in the city, in the merchant's quarter I saw the raven tearing at them with a golden beak, in its talons a hammer – the followers of the man-god were there too. The cannibals fell first, the others followed quickly but a living servant alone escaped – or at least seemed to."

"Can you find him?"

"Sadly no, my link to him was via his master, when he perished he was safe." The necromancer frowned, "I don't know why he was safe, but he was, I am certain of that."

"Betrayal?"

"I am unable to provide that information."

"Location?"

Eyes and head dropped, "My apologies."

A slight sigh of annoyance and her attention shifted to the vampire lord.

"Firstly I want the servant found." She paused until Viktor bowed his head slightly, "then I will need you to accomplish what Caspian failed to do."

"Of course, it will be my pleasure."

"And your duty."

"They are one and the same, My lady."

At last she smiled but it was still a brief cold thing, "As it should be – now let me tell you what task I had set Caspian."

xx

Dregiez felt the world shift and tumble as his guts churned and groaned in protest, welling up into his sore throat. He staggered as he felt hard stone beneath his feet and he slammed hard into a crumbling wall, dropping to his knees to vomit into the gutter. Eyes watering, he turned away, coughed and spat several times trying to clear his mouth of the sticky remnants, then scraped his arm across his sore lips.

A slobbering mouth in a wall nearby gurgled in apparent sympathy before it's too long tongue dipped down into the foulness that he had emitted and drew it up to now slobbering toothy maw. Slowly Dregiez lurched back to his feet and backed away from the tainted wall.

Disbelievingly he watched the mouth consume the vomit with seeming relish, another portion of madness forced into his already overwhelmed mind. Feeling light headed, he again dropped to his knees, his breathing rapid and uncertain as he tried to understand what had happened.

A dark object dropped from his right hand and landed with a dull thud, cracking and splintering, he squinted at it, his eyes still uncertain. It had been a vibrant shard of wyrdstone, alive with the arcane energies that made it such a prize in the dead city, but now it was equally dead, drained dry and broken. Gazing upon its now crumbling husk, a cool wind drifted through the ruins and it simply disintegrated in the breeze.

His memories of the recent time were fragmentary, as uncertain as the now drifting ashes of the wyrdstone and his surroundings were not familiar. Large, once beautiful buildings rose up around him, several were fire blackened, their roofs open and torn, timbers exposed and rotting. A once proud bell tower attached to the largest had been briefly transmuted into living flesh and it had reached up to into the sky with gigantic hands before it had reverted to tormented immobility.

Dregeiz closed his eyes again on the madness and tried to focus, consider the recent events… but he was disturbed by a high almost feminine voice.

"Do you have more?"

He clutched at the sheath to his long knife still at his belt, shield and mace were apparently lost but he was not unarmed, he was not young or foolish. The blade he drew was sharp and clean unlike his clothing and as he rose to his feet again he swung round with it at a guard position.

The mouth ran its long sinuous tongue around its surprisingly full lips and over the large sharp teeth before it spoke again.

"I seldom get to taste new things now," it became thin and disappointed, almost lost against the stone and mortar before speaking revealed it again.

"Rats and beetles are tiresomely familiar, whilst the rain seldom changes its flavour."

The man simply stared at it for a long moment, then cleared his throat, "Where am I?"

Musical laughter, unnaturally pleasant, almost soothing, "Why you are in the greatest city in the Empire, not cold Middenheim, not rustic Talabheim and certainly not Altdorf. This is Mordheim, the rich and powerful and you stand upon cobbles of the gilded Imperial Avenue. Isn't it glorious?"

A damaged smile in return and a slight wave of the knife hand, "It seems to be past its best?"

"Says the man from Sylvania," more laughter, "I recognise that accent from bad plays about worse villains, your land is nothing but a dismal backwater, old fashioned and superstitious."

"Ah but we grow stronger. Much stronger than this accursed city." He stepped closer, "or its damned inhabitants."

"Damned we may be my god man but we are not alone in that, are we little puppet?"

"I serve the lords of my land, as my family has done so for long centuries, not the hungry gods of the abyss."

"Ah such sweet delusions, my complements to your puppet master but still my question stands, have you any more gifts for me?"

Only half listening now, Dregeiz shook his head and then narrowed his eyes as he heard movement, the scrape of a heavy blade across stone and the scuff of heavy feet. From within a shattered mansion shambled several walking corpses, the second one dragging a spear, its ragged tip sparking and scratching the cobbles. The leader was the rat gnawed husk of a once rich noblewoman, her silk gown now stained with offal and worse, as she advanced she raised a near skeletal hand and arm and hissed through her black teeth.

He laughed, "Well that's just typical."

"Friends of yours?"

"No, I think not."

"Best run along then."

Although he did not reply, Dregeiz took the entities advice and moved off cautiously, unwilling to walk into more of the dead as they began to shuffle out of several other doorways.

xx


	7. Chapter 7 - – Marionette

**Chapter Seven – Marionette**

The baroness had departed but she had left a watcher who stood now in the courtyard of the mansion, silent but fulfilling her duties as she had been instructed. The sun was weak and ineffectual, barely reaching the ground after it had fought through the thick clouds and unnatural haze that often shrouded the city and its surrounds. She was careless of its touch in any case, after all she was not a vampire.

As instructed she had kept close to the two actual blood drinkers before they retreated to the safe darkness of an underground chamber, guarded by pair of shambling armoured corpses that had merely gaped at her with empty eyes. The necromancer was still working, she could see the dancing strands of Shyish undulating around his chambers, it was entrancing but nothing she had not seen before.

A polite cough sounded behind her, "Can I be of assistance M'lady?"

Slowly she turned, the faint light catching the polished silver of her mask and stared at the hunchback, considering his words carefully.

The intonation was without fear or malice, the words were both harmless and unfortunate.

"Nothing require now."

She had instinctively replied using her fingers in a rapid succession of shapes and then as it was likely he would not understand, simply shook her head.

When he in turn had replied with his own hands she was caught off guard for a moment and had to sign to repeat his words.

He did so, obviously concentrating and moving more slowly.

"Speak, I serve." As he concluded he executed a precise, if somewhat painful bow.

She again paused and considered this, then executed a curtsey in return.

"How learn Hand Speech?" Whilst she spoke with her right hand, her left caressed a bone handled stiletto at her back, she herself had been taught by the Sisterhood and they guarded their secrets to the grave and beyond. Still it was more in contemplation and from habit than actual threat, killing this man would complicate her mission.

He spoke now rather than gestured, "My family have served the lord of Sylvania for a long time, and not all who served could speak, except in this way. It is practical and therefore remembered."

"Walk, Talk, I Listen." She signed and then took his arm, pleased that he did not flinch at the cold touch of her fleshless hands, normally she wore gloves but in such a house it was unnecessary.

She felt the hunger at the touch of living flesh but refrained from draining, a gesture of respect to him and not just his master. Together they strode into the dim sunlight as he spoke of his home and how he had learnt to speak with his hands.

Perhaps she would not have to kill him.

Xx

Heike was getting drunk, steadily and with determination, she had barely looked up when Kurt sat down, his own tankard heavy on the stained wooded table. Now she sloshed the murky bottle around and then took another deep swallow, grimacing as it burned its way down her throat.

"Good eh?"

She grinned, eyes hardly focussed, "No, it's really not." She drank again.

He laughed and looked down at the equally cloudy beer, the light was bad enough in the room that he could not see if there was anything floating in its depths. The shutters were closed and barred now, as they always were once night fell and the temperature dropped. Smoke curled around the room from the fireplace and the smell of burning wood fought hard against various less pleasant aromas.

"So what's the problem?" He kept his voice casual.

Another swallow and the bottle was put down hard on the stained tabletop.

"Bah, I am tired of it."

"What?"

"Everything, the cold..." She paused and looked down at the bottle, "…the drink and lets not even mention the food."

Kurt did not disagree, merely pushed his own battered tankard away and sat back.

"Chasing round the ruins every other day – what exactly are we achieving? Let the monsters and the dead kill each other."

He grunted neutrally and flicked his eyes around the room before he replied, he was reassured to see there were only a couple of equally drunken mercenaries – both of whom he knew.

"The captain serves Sigmar as he and Father Dortmund see best." He said carefully.

She grimaced and drank again.

"Is it Him that drives our Captain or just vengeance?" He did not reply or even meet her eyes.

"We will die here, for nothing and unavenged. No-one will care – not even Sigmar." She finished the bottle and wiped her mouth in disgust at the taste and then gazed long at the shadows dancing amongst flames in the fireplace.

He in turn watched her "What would you do if you commanded, if you were captain eh?"

She smiled now, her eyes still completely focussed but her voice was level enough.

"I'd burn it down, all of it. The dead burn like anything else, the ratmen and the heretics were born for the fire. The city is truly damned – we should accept that and do what is needed."

Kurt wanted to argue, but her words held him silent with their brutal truth.

Xx

Morrsleib was rising again, casting its unnatural light down on the city it had destroyed with a spiteful speck of its vast substance. Her pale sister disdained to join her and emerge from the clouds, its path across the heavens and periods of appearance dictated by predictable logic rather than the whims of Chaos.

Dregeiz looked up at its sickly green globe as a cool mist began to rise in the streets, spreading through the jagged walls of the burnt out buildings that surrounded him. Things were moving now, skittering shapes half glimpsed, hunting and being hunted. Hisses and high pitched squeals sounded through the murk, from multiple directions they converged on him.

Within the cocoon of flesh, the daemon had been quiescent, happy to enjoy sensations, emotions and the sheer physicality of inhabiting a mortal. Its connection to the transient creature noticed the building tension, the flow of adrenaline and its interest was piqued.

Through the eyes of Dregeiz creature it saw another creature briefly through the curtain of water droplets before it vanished again. The daemon felt the fear building in the mortal and whilst that itself was a remarkable experience it had no wish to lose its connection to the world so soon.

So it exerted itself, drawing on the great portion that still resided in its home and began to twist and shape its host. First it reached into the eyes, increasing their abilities, blood began to leak from the sockets as it did so and the flesh staggered and cried out in pain. Quickly the daemon shut off the host's pain receptors and Dregeiz refocussed and stumbled into a doorway, grasping a mould strewn post to keep him upright.

He coughed up blood and something else that twitched and writhed for a moment on the now slick stone. His arms twitched as his muscles thickened and twisted, testing their own strength as nausea briefly swept through his body to be replaced with a feeling of power. A growl emanated from deep in his throat as his right hand gripped hard on the stone pillar of the doorway, the fingers and nails elongated and hardened, shifting colour to a vivid blue.

The creatures in the mist were closing in, disdaining stealth now and chittering with excitement to each other, hot breath loud and fast. With a high pitched shriek of anticipation the dark clad creature leapt out of the mist, a jagged blade raised high.

Dregeiz spun away from the blow, crouching low before exploding upwards and ramming his right hand into the belly of his attacker. The stinking rags and battered leather gave little resistance and the sweaty fur and flesh even less. The squeals of agony and fear increased in volume as he forced his hand up and grasped the creature's heart, the stink of the skaven's fear-musk heavy in the nostrils of the possessed man.

A few last twitches and the now limp ratman was flung back out into the street, blood spraying across the stones, the limp remnants of its heart still held fast in the clenched fist of its killer. Dregeiz took a moment to scan the street, his eyes now ignoring the mist and four other skaven were clearly visible, skulking closer.

The nearest three had short barbed spears and shields, whist the fourth, a little larger and itself armoured with rusty chainmail and brandishing a pair of curved swords whose tips glowed a sickly vivid green. It urged the others on with a wave of the blades and a flurry of words that the host vaguely recognised as a debased form of his own language.

Two of the spear-rats scurried forward, the third perhaps a little older and wiser moved just a little more slowly than the other two, red eyes fixed on the human. Working together the initial pair attacked simultaneously, one thrusting its jagged spear tip at the man's throat, the other at his groin.

Dregeiz twisted his body away from the lower of the two attacks even as his hand flashed out to grab the throat thrust with his mutated hand, snapping the blade off the haft and then turning back at speed to rip the metal across the attacker's eyes, causing the skaven to recoil squealing loudly in pain. Its companion snarled and shifted and backed off to bring its spear back into play even as the third ratman pushed forward.

The possessed human moved at almost the same time, turning back and striding forward, ramming his fist into the snout of the oncoming foe, shattering bone and teeth. As it dropped to its knees in shock and pain he threw it into the remaining skaven who had been moving to impale Dregeiz with its spear.

By the time the two had become untangled, he was upon them, fists blurring as he pounded the face of the ratman into a bloody mush, casually he then snapped their necks as a terrier would do with vermin. The last of them was crawling away, still whimpering with pain when he approached and crushed its spine with his boot.

Standing atop the still twitching corpse, he looked for the leader but he had already fled into the mist. However he could see something else approaching, a tall figure stalking through the murk towards him whilst the daemon within could also perceive the entities aura, a scintillating spiral of power that twisted into the true world beyond.

Humanoid, it moved with an unnatural grace, hips swinging and body undulating almost hypnotically. It was naked its skin beautifully smooth and cloaked in reptilian scales in equal measure, its willowy but powerfully toned legs and with two toed talons that clicked loudly on the cobbles. These matched the long slender arms that in turn surmounted by pincers and the barbed tail that curled and twisted behind it.

The long body was distinctly feminine but with only a single breast, a burning pink sigil where the other should be, pulsing and writhing in the flesh. Its face shifted and melted constantly, moving from uncanny beauty to brutal horror, the only constant the eyes. Green, saucer like and obviously inhuman they were at once taunting and alluring as they attempted to grapple with the onlooker's soul. White hair curled back from its head and flowed down its spined back, laced with multi-coloured ribbons.

As it drew closer, the air was filled with pheromones and the daemon felt the mortal's body respond even as he kept firm hold of his soul and mind. It could feel his yearning, the desire building trying to draw him onwards and to the creature before him.

"Flesh-thing, come to me and I will show you joy and terror, delightful pain and torturous pleasure."

Its voice was all around them, moving with the scent it emitted, languid and insidious.

The daemon clamped down harder and Dregeiz was like a statue, only his tongue able to move.

"Q'tlahs'itsu'aksho" he breathed, "Cousin-Rival."

Having been named in the language of Chaos, the Daemonette paused and its mouth opened too wide, revealing teeth spiralling down into its gullet as its long tongue issued forth, probing at the air as it resuming its movement, now striding closer. A pincer gently caressed the man's head as the organ trailed across his face, probed briefly into his ear and was withdrawn.

"Ahhh, child of Fortune itself, you are ensconced and confined within such a cage of flesh, yet do you not wish me to enrich its meagre existence?"

Its voice was disappointed and intrigued, the denial an intimate torture which it could embrace.

The tongue curled around the throat of the man, but the voice issued forth all the same, curling into and around the brain and soul of the host.

"Shall we bargain then?" The tongue detached itself and the Daemonette stepped back and waited.

"We shall."

Their true selves communed for a moment-eternity in the warp and agreed. It took little to no time in the physical world and Dregeiz was still standing surrounded by the cooling skaven corpses, his heart pounding from his exertions.

As he gained control of his mind and body and looking around the mortal tried to focus on what was happening to him, why he could not recall everything but the daemon within quickly smoothed out these concerns and urged him onwards into the mist.

Xx

She awoke in total darkness, startled by its totality with her heart racing furiously even as the hunger gnawed at her stomach, tearing at her mind with razor claws. The silks she had lain upon were twisted beneath her, irritating against the unnatural awareness of her skin, but that was barely noticed beside the need to feed.

A cry sounded out from her, a call for her lover, but he had already arisen and was out in the night, his own blood lust assuaged. So she arose herself and was at the door to the cellar in a moment, clawing at the stone but even as she did so she could hear movement beyond it, smell blood past it.

The door moved open smoothly but slowly but as soon as there was a gap large enough for her lithe body to slide through, she moved. Fangs and claws un-sheathed she was a monstrous blur of ferocious hunger as she emerged to seek sustenance. The corpse that had opened the door moaned softly at her, more like a roar to her sensitive hearing but she ignored it.

Only a single smoky candle lit the room, but it was like daylight to her new senses and she focussed on the old oak table that stood in the room. Atop it was a jug of crimson blood, congealing now but its scent was everything, her whole world condensed more and more to that single element. In another moment she was pouring it down her throat, feeling her need reduce with every gulp until it was all gone, but the hunger was not gone, she could still feel it in her belly, faint but unyielding.

"Feeling better, M'lady?"

Claudiu had maintained a safe distance until she had fed but now he ventured into the room proper. Behind him was Ioana, her face fixed in a mask of control, carrying a silver ewer and basin, the scent of rosewater faint in the vampires nostrils compared to the sweet temptation of blood that still clung to the jug.

With some effort Gizela drew her eyes away and back towards the two humans, slowly she digested the words the male had spoken, her mind was clearing and she remembered him, remembered him being helpful. Yet he was not uppermost in her clearing mind.

She coughed, her throat dry again, "Where is Viktor?"

"I was commanded to greet you with profound apologies for his absence." He smiled politely. "I hope you will allow Ioana to assist you?" He gestured the girl forward when the vampire did not balk at the request.

"Where did he go?"

"Ahh unfortunately he did not see fit to inform me of that specific detail I am afraid."

With only a single nervous glance towards Claudiu, Ioana moved and placed the bowl onto the table, her hand only shaking a little. She began to pour out the water but let out a shriek when the vampires head snapped round at the sudden noise and was suddenly at her side, fangs sliding slowly into view.

The hunchback sighed but did not interfere, either she would devour the foolish girl or she wouldn't.

Gizela felt the thirst begin to rise again within her, the blood within the girl calling to her, the waves of fear emanating from her further inflaming the predator within. She cocked her head on one side and peered into the wide eyes, feeling the faint breath upon her throat.

Just a taste she thought, enough merely to sooth the need a little, tilting the girls head to one side and brushing against her neck with her fangs. Ioana could stand no more and collapsed in a heap on the ground, startling the vampire who jumped back with a snarl and then stood staring at the unconscious body.

"She is of course at your disposal M'lady…." Gizela turned to face him now, eyes assessing, measuring, then her eyes flickered back to the pulsing throat of the girl on the floor.

"….yet she has other uses, perhaps…..on this occasion….. you might allow her to live?"

She continued to stare for long minutes before she nodded.

"Ah Excellent, when she… ah….awakens she can tend to you properly."

He received no response but continued, "If it pleases you in the meantime, Lady Alessia would converse with you."

A long pause, but he waited nevertheless.

"Who?"

"It would be best if she explained that I think."

Xx

Alessia Caivano had moved a seat out in to the night and now sat watching the moon sailing defiantly across the sky, its malignant green glow a source of temporarily fascination. Her vision shifted and she could see it as a swirling vortex of colour and power, a portal to and gigantic extrusion from the realm of magic.

As a child she had always been terrified of the moon, unwilling to even look upon it when it arose in the night sky it was only when she died that she had appreciated its beauty, the power that emanated from it. She no longer had actual eyes but now she could see more clearly than ever before, death had been kind to her and life was so long ago.

It had been a reward for service, a just compensation for loyalty in word and deed, not left to dissipate in the sea of souls, or whatever happened to those mortals who served the Queen of Mysteries. Her body had been raised and the essence of what she was bound to the cold hard rune carved bones and still she served loyally.

Like her eyes, her flesh ears were things only of memory, but her hearing was nevertheless enhanced and so she heard the blood drinker and the human before they arrived into the garden. She stood and turned to face them, even though it made no real difference to her, but politeness was something she valued.

Claudiu emerged first and moved to stand by a rotting wooden pedestal, the dead flowers stark against the peeling paint. Gizela moved slowly, unnaturally so, her eyes drifting around the ruins of the formal garden before returning to rest on the silver masked figure. Alessia was not tall, her pale polished bones clad in a dark dress and a hooded fur cloak whilst her right hand retained several glittering rings only slightly loose on the bone.

"Allow me to perform the introductions, this is Lady Alessia in the service of the Baroness von Dernsbach. Lady Alessia, Gizela Dumitrescu, consort to Lord Viktor."

The vampire watched as Alessia approached silently and reached out with one hand, gently brushing her face, establishing contact with the still warm flesh.

"I speak to you now as the dead may do to each other." The voice in Gizela's head was distinctly feminine – her accent Tilean or perhaps Estalian she thought. "We can-not be overheard."

A soft pale hand nearly touched the silver mask in return but an innate sense of self-preservation stopped her movement short.

"I am mute to the living, but we who have passed beyond such mediocrity can converse in this manner, unheard by any others."

Gizela opened her mouth and an ice cold finger touched it until it closed again.

"Whilst I believe that Claudiu is both loyal and has your best interests at heart, speak within your mind."

"What are you?"

"I thought that had been covered, everything that the mortal said was correct."

"So what do you want with me?"

"You are in a perilous position as I think you are beginning to understand, comprehend that your new life could be a short excursion. Now I may be able to assist, even provide another path should the one you are on prove untenable."

"I…I don't know what you mean. Viktor…"

The voice was noticeably cooler, "….Is a foolish young blood drinker."

A pause and the tone softened again. "Well perhaps his love will remain true, perhaps….but my queen has always found men inconstant and foolish, untrustworthy creatures at best, more often dangerous enemies. We ask nothing of you now – but…..you might need our aid in the future."

"I don't know…what if Viktor…"

"If the young lord is all that you think he is, then we will not need to speak of this again, if not….well that's a discussion for another time."

Alessia allowed the vampire to think on this before she continued.

"Now you should explore your new abilities, delight in the potential and possibilities. Run, dance, love and above all enjoy it – it's a gift that few experience and many desire." The woman's voice was now full of life, resembling an animated version of the image carved into the silver mask.

"Oh and you should learn to fight… start with a mortal teacher and when you have surpassed him, I will teach you the rest."

"Why are you doing this, being so helpful?"

"It is what sisters do. Remember that too."

Xx

Dieter scowled up at the chaos moon, it was difficult enough to enter the city without that cursed thing bringing out the salves of the dark gods out to cavort in its malign light. It was unlikely that they would be encountered so close to the crumbling walls but it was another element to the mathematics of risk, an equation that he had calculated a number of times since Viktor had summoned him to join in the mission.

"Perhaps we should have brought the ghouls, My Lord?"

Viktor glanced at him from his perch atop the column of once finely dressed stone, to one side was a shattered statue of the man-god himself, his hand still clutching his hammer but detached from the muscular arm, itself chipped and battered. Fragments of once proud stone lay all about, with the larger pieces daubed with paint, offal and worse.

Near the necromancer stood four corpses, swaying gently as if in a slight breeze, occasionally a low moan issuing from their slack mouths. They held well notched swords and axes, two of them even had battered shields hanging off their arms; ragged clothing clinging to their slick, mould flecked flesh, one even had a metal helm on its head, part of a blade still embedded in it.

The vampire leapt down and was at his servant's side in a flurry of displaced dust and muck.

"There are too many things out and about and the hunters of the damned are also inevitably drawn to their prey." Viktor echoed the necromancer's thoughts and continued.

"At worst they can provide a distraction to either - if needed – and that would be enough, it is not as if they cannot be easily replaced."

Dieter considered disputing this only briefly.

He had met his master at the walls of the city, having travelled during the day whilst he slumbered, briefly calling in to check on the Brinerhof farmstead on the way. They would collect the well gnawed bones of the mercenary on the return journey, they seemed strong and in good condition – such things were useful.

Cautiously they had entered through one of the many crumbling breaches and moved onwards into the rubble strewn street and the shattered buildings. Many were ramshackle even at their prime and now they were now even more prone to collapse, still strewn with the detritus of those who had eked out an often brutal living inside.

Insects, small and unnaturally large scurried or flew away from the invaders, many glowing iridescently. Skulls and bones, gnawed, scratched and picked clean of flesh lay all about, tumbled and discarded by the devourers. Unsurprisingly nothing of value lingered.

The six of them moved off slowly, the vampire leading with blade in hand, the necromancer flanked by his shambling corpses, his eyes constantly moving to the deeper shadows. He kept the leanest of them close, its pace quicker than the others, its grip on the sword handle more assured, its eyes glowing with a faint green glow from the fragment of wyrdstone he had inserted into the green mush of its brain.

He was pleased with Aleksy, his experiments in imbuing the dead with more ability, a remembrance of certain useful skills was progressing well in this one. The corpse had proved that it could even guard itself against the blows of others and whilst it was no longer an adept with a sword, it did recall a few basic manoeuvres.

It was to be hoped that such things could catch enemies off guard.


	8. Chapter 8 - Death by Moonlight

**Chapter Eight – Death by Moonlight**

"Why did we come at night?"

The man spoke too loudly, drawing glares from his companions, but only briefly as they turned their eyes to the surrounding ruins, more concerned without such foolishness could draw out of them. Hands tightened on sword, spear and warhammer hilts, muscles tensed and eased off slowly at the lack of reaction from the moonlit shells of buildings.

The man nearest half snarled, half grinned and let out a guttural whisper "Scared eh Boy?"

In turn he received an incredulous stare from a figure that few would have called boyish for he stood nearly six foot in height with long matted blonde hair over his fur clad shoulders. He might be the youngest in the group but one hefty hand held a formidable hammer and although at rest now, it would need all the formidable muscles of both arms to wield it in anger.

"I like to see what I am killing." The "boy" declared.

His companion grunted and shook his head, "Don't matter to me. Shouldn't matter to you."

"Quiet." The voice rippled angrily through the group and the pack responded, heads went down and those that had just spoken pulled their lips hard shut.

The leader was shorter than the "boy" but much broader, almost dwarvish in build and not unlike them in nature or demeanour. He too was blonde, but it was flecked with grey, hair and beard alike and his furs covered not just clothes but heavy mail, well maintained and strong.

He gestured with his own hammer, a one handed version with the snarling jaws of a wolf on the head. They moved on in a well-practiced formation, half watchful for enemies, the rest scanning for the green glow of wyrdstone.

Xx

The flesh shell that had been called Dregeiz was lost – what had been left of his mind was fractured and uncertain and the moonlit ruins all around him gave little clue as to where he was. He gazed up at stone and wooden framed buildings and they meant nothing – no more than the skull of the dead dog at his feet that in turn stared up at him did.

Entwined within and about his soul, the daemon had little idea (or interest) where it was, geography was a concept it had mined from the fleshlings mind and soul but it seemed strange and at best a curiosity – in its realm, nothing was constant except change. It had withdrawn from direct control once more and waited to see what entertainment it would bring.

He stumbled on, occasionally glancing down at his hand, mutated by the thing that lurked within him and on those fleeting occasions when his mind focussed, he wondered what would be next but found that it was another element that failed to provoke an emotional reaction.

Above him on a battered and befouled balcony a twisted figure crouched, its eyeless face pointed towards the man, its own oversize nostrils twitching. A long tongue, forked and glistening tasted the air before withdrawing back into the large mouth, easing between large incisors.

Clutching the long stave to itself it whispered in the language of its patron deities, uncovering the stone at its tip which shimmered and softly whined in return. Below him lurked a pair of heavily built men, their half-clad bodies boldly proclaiming their allegiance to the dark gods with crudely inscribed tattoos. One had a pair of notched axes in his gnarled hands, a rusting, blood flecked knife in his belt. His companion was taller and well-muscled, but was currently crouched peering through a hole in the wall, a large and once fine sword across his knees.

Both were hungry and waited for the signal to rush out and devour the interloper into their city, he looked like he would have plenty of meat on him and perhaps other treasures, although the meat would in truth be sufficient – food was not plentiful.

Hagen listened closely to the stone, its connection to the mighty powers unquestioned but in keeping with their nature not simple to interpret. The blessed nature of the man below was clear to his own unnatural senses but even amongst the chosen of the god's strife was constant, to be valued for it promoted strength in the survivor.

He absorbed the whisper that insinuated itself into his mind, contemplating the words and the message, comparing it with his own impression. Happily the two were in unison and after a last scent of the departing man, he clambered down the ladder to his waiting guards.

They slowly straightened up and grinned at him, eyes full of desire for meat and the inevitable indulgent violence that would be needed to obtain it. On this occasion they would be disappointed.

"Jochen, follow and watch." The axeman so addressed grunted and turned but the sorcerer moved closer and his hand fell upon the man's shoulder, his grip firm and unyielding.

"Do not harm him."

Satisfied with the second grunt of understanding, Hagan continued, "Heinz, time to go…."

The bald swordsman swept a speculative gaze over the sorcerer and shrugged at his companion, shouldered his blade and then followed him when he slipped out of the badly scorched doorway into the night.

Xx

Viktor tapped his fingers on the wall irritably, once again waiting for the necromancer and the animated corpses to catch up. Then slowly he turned his head back down the street, attention attracted by something more than scuttling of insects and other vermin and the slow degradation of the buildings.

His eyes narrowed as they focussed on several armed men moving carefully through a burnt out shell of a once proud tavern, its sign replaced by a hanging and equally burnt corpse. The vampire moved deeper into the shadows and watched, a pang of anticipation and hunger sounding through his body. A stifled cry shifted his attention to the building next door, more intact but still fire blackened where he could just make out another pair of men, one of whom had a glowing piece of wyrdstone in his gloved hand.

"Useful little blood bags." Viktor cracked his knuckles and rolled his neck in anticipation.

He moved swiftly but carefully, not making any more noise than was unavoidable with his armour, in moments he was across the street, watching and waiting for the right moment.

In the room Eckhard stared at the stone, its bright emerald energy dancing in the dark room as he held it up.

"Its…its…beaut…." His words turned into a yelp as it was dashed from his hand.

"It's Bloody dangerous." Torben spat, making the sign of Ulric as he did so.

"Now make yourself useful and get the tongs Boy….."

"No need for that gentleman." The voice was cultured but to northern ears resonated of the eastern provinces of the Empire.

Viktor strode into the room, fangs gleaming, his sword still sheathed. Both of the northerners swiftly grabbed their weapons, shifting into a guard stance, eyes on the vampire.

"Drop the hammers and I might let you live."

"Huh." Torben moved forward a little, shifting his weight on his feet, hammer raising a little whilst to his left, Eckhard stepped to one side, giving himself more room. They exchanged a brief glance, confirming their location in preparation to strike and in that moment Viktor moved against them.

A fist slammed into the older man's jaw with a sickening crunch, lifting him off the ground and back hard into the crumbling wall - he groaned and slid down, his hammer dropping to the ground. As the vampire pivoted towards Eckhard, he dropped his hands to grab the haft of the heavy hammer powering towards him, a slight grunt of effort as he stopped the blow.

He looked down as he held firm and then into the eyes of the young man, allowing himself a fang revealing grin.

"Last chance, Mortal. Be grateful I am in a good mood."

Eckhard roared his anger and dropped his grip, slamming his own right fist into the Viktor's face whilst he groped for his knife sheathed on his belt with his left. The vampire shrugged off the blow and head butted him, breaking his nose in a cloud of blood then slammed the head of the hammer into the gut of his opponent.

He watched as the man staggered back, trying to gasp for air and took a moment to lick some of the blood that had splattered across his face as he searched for an appropriate cutting remark. He was still thinking when the glowing hammer slammed into the side of his head, shattering bone and breaking teeth.

A pain racked snarl and he was turning – but too slow as the wielder swung again, crunching into his forehead and sending him staggering in turn – his own sluggish blood now oozing down his face. A third blow hammered home as he reached for his sword hilt, crushing and deforming the ornate armour, sending shards of metal deep into his body.

The sheer force of the fourth blow into the side of his head smashed him down to his knees, his eyesight a blood soaked blur, his eardrum crushed as his skull split under the impact. Speech was put beyond him as the hammer shattered teeth and jaw bone, but his inhuman constitution kept her conscious as he fell back into the bloody dirt and rubble. He vaguely felt the laces of his armour being cut and the battered metal plate thrust aside before new pain erupted in his chest and his body went rigid and unresponsive. He screamed and writhed within the prison of his mind, but not even a single finger or toe twitched.

"Take the heart first." The words were growled, harsh and low and nothing but vague noise to the unmoving vampire.

Both of the Middenheimers watched their leader, Lukas in awe, refraining from speech as he held up the slowly pulsing organ in one huge hairy hand.

"Now light a torch." His words tore through the air.

Before they could respond a new voice cut across the scene of bloodshed and a spectral amethyst coloured hand curled powerfully around the throat of the warrior's leader.

"Put… it….. down!"

Flanked by a pair of corpses, Dieter moved into view, eyes fixed on the heart in the man's hand, his own right hand outstretched and grasping in the same manner as the spell he had conjured.

"Drop it or die mortal!"

In response Lukas looked at the necromancer with disdain, the hefty muscles in his neck straining against the magical hand that enclosed it. His eyes shifted to yellow and a warning growl resonated deep in his chest, his fang like teeth showing.

Dieter felt sweat trickling down his neck as he held the man in his arcane grasp, feeling the pressure building through the spell and his own eyes narrowed as he realised he was not sure which would break first, the magic or the man's neck.

Without apparent concern, Lukas raised his still glowing hammer towards his neck, its radiance increasing steadily as it moved closed to the ethereal hand. Meanwhile his own hand crushed itself into the heart of the vampire, black blood dripping to the ground and sending Viktor into a series of agonised spasms.

A single word, a flick of his other wrist and his already straining mind and Dieter was urging his creations forward, their plaintive moans sounding through the air. In direct response, the warriors of the warband moved to meet them, calling out challenges and the name of Ulric as they clashed.

The glowing hammer reached the hand and pain surged back through the spell and into the necromancer, but Dieter did not relinquish his grip but rather increased the pressure and was rewarded by a wounded grimace. Grunts, groans mixed with the sound of hammers crushing and blades plunging into flesh as both their warband's struggled to gain ascendancy.

Lukas could feel the pressure mounting, taking a breath was becoming harder and pain in his neck and shoulders increasing. A growl rumbled in his chest as he noted that his men had not yet broken through the corpses, their resistance greater than usual in such necromantic creations.

Then his nose flared as a distinctive new scent assaulted him, a powerful mixture of perfume and pure lust, drifting across the street and through the raging melee. His unnaturally sensitive ears picked up the faint sound of singing, a beautiful mixture of male and female tones melding seamlessly even if the words were unclear. He saw the necromancer's nostrils flare at the same time but before either could react further the Daemonette arrived in all its glory.

It sang as it danced into the melee, pheromones wafted through the air as it in turn drank in the scent of the men fighting, their sweat and urgent passions filling its mortal shell with familiar anticipation. The less welcome stench of putrefying flesh also reached it, briefly transforming its face into a mask of aristocratic distaste before the features shifted to that of beautiful maiden in ecstasy then to an age withered matron and continued to bleed back and forth between the two.

It pirouetted across the ruined interior, footing unerringly precise despite the speed at which it stepped and its elongated feet, inches of spiralling bone growths giving the appearance of high heels. The tall lithe figure appeared beside a bearded warrior and the stinking corpse that he was fighting driving it back with heavy, brutal blows from his hammer. The dead soldier's face was already crushed and shattered, the heavy shield bent and battered, but its sword was also crimson coated with the blood of its opponent.

A razor edged claw delicately, affectionately, caressed the man's face and his controlled rage evaporated, his face slackened and eyes went wild with sudden ecstasy, his grip faltering on the hammer. At the same time its other unnaturally sinuous arm extended with lightning speed, its long pincer latched onto and then severing the rising arm of the dead man, sending its blade clattering to the ground.

The Daemonette shifted around the pair, brutal claws twitching and flensing, dismembering the dead man with efficient movements that alternated with lingering caresses on the living warrior with an energetic tail and flickering tongue. With every touch, he shuddered, his mouth drooping and drool slipping down into his beard – he dropped to his knees even as the animated corpse lost coherency and fell to the ground, armless and headless.

As the remnants of his soul was consumed, the daemon sang louder, the disparate male and female tones mixing together to form a siren's call. The living nearby all turned to face it, even Lukas gazing upon the disconcerting beauty with wide eyes but the distraction did not extend to the dead. Rusting blades thrust into yielding flesh, slamming through furs and leather with the strength of those powered by the dark energies of Shyish.

Dieter could feel its song rippling through his body, the scent invigorating and distracting him with decadent thoughts and desires. He staggered and his spell faltered, the amethyst fist he had conjured fading in the glowing pink mist that now surrounded and enveloped the skirmish. Coughing, he spat several words and felt the energy of death cascade through him once more, burning out the unwanted emotions as dark sigil's etched their way across his skin.

Saucer like eyes shifted the apparent focus of the Deamonette to the necromancer and it strode closer, casually decapitating one of the remaining dead as she circled. Its singing intensified and all those living save Lukas and Dieter fell to their knee but now at a word from their master, the surviving dead turned to face the new threat. A new mouth opened on the neck of the Daemonette and the laughter of the child of Slaanesh was brutally discordant, making the ears of the living bleed whilst the siren song kept most on their knees.

"Do you not wish to enjoy my gifts?" It pranced closer as its voice issued forth.

Lukas growled in response, his body and face becoming thicker and heavier, clothing and armour straining as they tried to contain it.

"ohhh do you want to kill this body Beast or take it? We could do such things together….."

His eyes lowered, he shook his increasingly shaggy head and then his hammer was flying through the air, blazing almost white as it hurtled towards the daemons head.

Its reactions were too fast for it to strike true, smoothly pivoting to one side but still it caught the Daemonette a glancing blow, crushing the flesh, shattering bone and burning the entire right side of its face, before embedding itself in the wall of a house, burning through the stone.

"Such a delightful caress should be rewarded."

With those words it leapt up and forward, spinning in mid-air, still singing and laughing through its mouths before landing with razor claws outstretched and snipping off the heads of two of the animated dead. It tossed the heads before it and continued to advance flicking the black bloody sludge from its pincers.

Dieter stepped back away from the approaching entity and pulled an obsidian bladed dagger from his robes and glanced across to where the heart of his liege lay at the feet of Lukas. He urged his last minion Aleksy into battle with the Daemonette, a slight pang of regret at the inevitable sacrifice of a useful creation.

Lukas glared at his men, "Get up and fight!" he roared, his voice more demanding and louder than the song that had enraptured them.

To their credit, they stirred now, rising from their knees and shaking off the malign influence and staggering into the battle. The entity took no notice of them and no more of the sword blow that Aleksy struck, the blade shattering on its skin as it stalked past.

Its tail lashed behind it as it reached Lukas, the long tongue lancing out towards him as its claws wove a dangerous pattern before it. He ducked the lashing proboscis, eyes on the two dancing pincers and backpedalled as he waited for an opening. Nearby, Dieter winced as the taloned feet of the Daemonette nearly crushed Viktor's heart before he began to draw upon the winds of magic, murmuring an incantation.

"Play nice." The Daemonette trilled as it spun to face him, eyes blazing emerald, it spoke from both mouths now, dispensing with the singing.

Torben charged it, his hammer crashing into the entity but with little effect and he rounded off it, barely avoiding a casual flick of a pincer. The stench of rot enveloped him as he collided with Alesky, but the corpse did not seem to notice, lumbering towards the daemon with his broken blade, mangled shield at one side. Lukas did not hesitate, leaping and dashing towards his hammer still embedded in the wall.

Finishing his spell, Dieter gestured and bone shards glowing with amethyst energy tore out from the nearby corpses in a cloud of black gore, lashing into the Daemonette. It shuddered under the fusillade of blows, but its reaction was one of pleasure as parts of skin and flesh were torn by the magical onslaught.

Pausing only to kick backwards and rake open the chest of Eckhard with its talon, it danced forward again to engage the necromancer, dripping flesh from its wounds. He managed to avoid one claw, parrying its twin with his own ebony blade, causing the chitin armour it touched to smoke and burn. However its tail launched itself at him as it spun around and the heavy barb impaled itself deep into his shoulder and pumping venom into the wound before laughing again it lifted Dieter and flung him away.

Alesky rammed his blade into a raw wound in the side of the Daemonette, twisting the blade as he did so, quickly followed by a torrent of hammer blows from the enraged men of Lukas who now surrounded the servant of Slaanesh.

It allowed it for a long moment, arms raised in the air as they attacked, drinking in the impacts and enjoying the pin pricks of delightful pain they caused. Then it sighed theatrically and spun in a lethal pirouette that took limbs and heads in equal measure, blood spraying in all directions.

"I am grateful for such an offering!" It leered at the survivors who clutched bloody stumps in horror. "Now let me show you the bountiful gratitude of a child of the Dark Prince."

"Ulric!" It was half a call to the deity so named and half a scream of rage as Lukas re-entered the fight.

His hammer had been forged not in the smithy of a man but at the forge of a dwarf, one of many who had found a home in his city Middenheim, a famously unassailable fortress named for, blessed by and pledged to the White Wolf, Ulric. Whilst it bore none of the fabled runes of the dwarves it had been blessed by the priesthood of Ulric against unnatural foes – the unquiet dead and the neverborn children of Chaos.

As the Daemonette shrieked with joy and reached out its arms to embrace his return, he wove his own pattern with the glowing hammer, smashing aside her claws with precise blows and guarding against return strikes until he could attack the entity itself.

He drove it back with blows to the chest and leg alike, iridescent blood spurting and glowing bones cracking under the impacts. No time or breath did he waste with further words, he had called upon his god to witness his deeds and knew that he was watching now – he needed nothing more than what had already been provided by his faith and blood.

One claw gripped his left hand and sawed at it, savaging his flesh and sending his own blood flowing down his armour and clothes. The other pincer flailed at him with its upper claw, the lower smashed and half detached, tendon and muscle trailing after as it moved.

Torben now had but one hand and a new gaping wound in his chest, but he swung hard with his own weapon. It might hasten his death, but he would not be found wanting with the gaze of Ulric upon them. Eckhard was dead, the light finally fading from his eyes, his final vision that of his own headless corpse lying in a pool of blood.

Lukas's hammer flew upwards in a devastating blow, snapping the neck and half detaching the Daemonettes head, briefly silencing its laughter. In response it took one ear, no more than that, a precise and almost delicate action as it whispered through both mouths.

"A sweet revel, now ending. I thank you…."

Its voice was cut off by a second blow, caving the skull in completely and sending the body hurtling down to the blood strewn floor.

The hammer fell twice more, heavy blows that cracked the stone beneath the shattered skull, splattering the unnatural blood several feet. Breathing heavily from his exertions Lukas dropped to one knee and called out to his men.

"Get me a torch."

He glanced over to where the vampire's heart had lain and grunted in displeasure as he saw that now only blood stained the ground.

Xx

Dieter could feel the poison in his blood, there was a burning sensation but it was vague and almost unconnected to him – his enchantment still held. He had long taken precautions against disease and poisons of course, both were a hazard for someone who worked so intimately with the dead but he wondered if any of this would avail him this time.

He glanced back at the lumbering figure of Alesky who had Viktor's body slung over one shoulder, grasping it with his remaining good arm. It was doubtful that the warband would pursue them but one could never be too careful in the city of the damned.

Xx

Gizlea gripped the hilt of the sword tightly, holding it in front of her as Claudiu had instructed, her eyes on him as she moved closer. He had been surprised when she had asked if he would show her how to use a sword – it was a duty he had carried out for a number of lords and not a few ladies but he had not expected it of the young lady that currently held his masters affections. Still he considered, it was better that she was able to defend herself. He adjusted his stance again to the defensive, a slight ache as he lifted the weight of the shield.

She in turn moved closer, her movement tentative. He flicked his eyes over her, noting the placement of her limbs and the sword.

"Not so tight Miss, if the weapon is gripped too strongly you can lose control or have it knocked out of your hands."

She frowned and looked down at the sword, it was not as heavy as it looked but then she was much stronger than before.

"Distraction is also dangerous." He intoned without inflection.

There was a glint of metal and suddenly there was a blade at her throat. It was withdrawn as quickly as it had appeared.

"Ahh My apologies, Miss." He took a breath, it was important to gauge how the master or mistress best responded to any criticism – he could tailor his instruction accordingly.

She took an unnecessary breath, controlling the flush of irritation that swept through her, a response that had surprised her for she had always been a good pupil at her studies – her musical ability had flourished quickly as had her dancing.

"No, thank you - Show me again the basic stances." She smiled at him encouragingly and touched his arm gently.

He bowed his head slightly and began to explain again, moving his own sword in slow precise movements to assist.

Xx


	9. Chapter 9 - Moving Forwards

**Chapter Nine –Moving Forwards**

"Welcome back." The words were indistinct, the perceived tone rising and lowering unnaturally.

He tried to respond, to speak, but it hurt so much, a piercing brutal pulse unlike the constant gnawing pain which had become his relentless companion.

The voice sounded again, repeating the same two words, this time a little clearer and the tones had some resonance in his aching mind. Trying to move in response to the sounds was a mistake, the resulting agony generating a scream that in turn tore through him with a whole new level of pain.

Darkness took him again.

Xx

"So that went well….." Claudiu sighed

Predictably Dieter only scowled in response as he looked down at the unresponsive body, the blood from the slightly swaying hanging body above having slowed to a near indistinct and interment drip.

Viktor's body was naked, most of the wounds inflicted by the blows of the hammer fading – mundane injuries would have healed in hours at most but these had already lingered for weeks. The bloody hole torn out of his chest was still raw and gaping, the replaced heart quiescent and barely joined to the rest of his organs by slowly regenerating tissue.

"So are you telling the mistress or shall I….again."

This time Dieter did cast a speculative glance at the hunchback, "Do as you will, I will continue trying to revive our lord, not merely seeking the favour of his concubine."

"Concubine? Is that what you call me?" Gizela spoke in the ear of the Necromancer who, startled, stepped back involuntary.

"Is the term offensive then, Miss?" He rallied quickly, his voice as cool as hers as he turned to face the woman.

She was clad in an immaculately pale silk shirt and dark men's breeches that clung to her legs in what she had been assured was a suitably distracting manner but more importantly also providing freedom of movement. A feathered hat surmounted her long dark hair which curled down artfully over one shoulder whilst a glittering jewel at her throat was equally positioned to catch the eye of an onlooker or opponent. At her waist was sheathed a long sword, the index finger of her right hand lightly tapping the hilt in a familiar fashion as Gizela considered his latest statement with a raised, carefully plucked eyebrow.

"How would you describe yourself? What _term_ should I use?" The necromancer pressed whilst Claudiu watched both, his face professionally expressionless.

"I would _prefer_ that you did not discuss me _at all_ ," she sighed a little theatrically, as if she practiced.

"However I understand that _servants_ do love to gossip…. so I think in that case you should use Consort when speaking of me and Miss will continue to suffice when speaking directly to me – that would be least offensive unit our lord is in a fit state to confirm my position."

She stepped close again but her voice did not drop, "Is that understood, Dieter?"

He did not flinch from her gaze, "Of course Miss, it will be as you wish."

"Good, now tell me – what went wrong?"

"The damage to our Lord is substantial, not only his body but his animating spirit has been shattered. Whilst infusions of blood are assisting, it is the energies of Shyish that will bring him back, guided by my precise calculations of the Corpse Geometries."

Dieter paused, but before either of the onlookers could interrupt he continued, "It is clear that the full restoration of body and spirit will take more time and effort."

"Are you certain you are able to complete this task?" Claudiu queried mildly.

"There is no one else who can do so, as you well know." The tall necromancer turned away from the pair and stepped back to examine the unmoving body on the stone slab. "IF I am left to my work…"

His right hand only had a slight tremble as he reached for the lead lined box of wyrdstone that lay nearby and he began to murmur an incantation.

Gizela stared at him for a long moment before sweeping silently back up the stone staircase whilst Claudiu smiled broadly then followed her. He caught up with her at the threshold of the manor house, staring out into the night. The hunchback spared only a brief glance at the pale shadow of her handmaiden Ioana who in turn stared at him with large dull eyes, her throat and wrists bruised and marked from the feeding of her mistress.

A cold hand touched his shoulder gently, the chill of the rune inscribed bones seeping through the leather and cloth but doing no more. He turned slowly and bowed his head slightly, politely acknowledging a superior.

Her gleaming fingers shifted quickly, "Failure?"

"Unfortunately yes" he intoned.

"Baroness returns."

"Ahh, that's unfortunate." He looked intently at her, "Can she be delayed?"

"Not long." The wraith paused and the silver mask tilted and turned, looking at the girl in the doorway. "No Viktor. A new Lord needed."

"Although I am ever here to serve and understandably anxious to revive our wounded lord, I am not a magister – if Dieter cannot progress his condition…..."

"Winds of Magic quiet here, stronger in the city?" Her fingers flashed quicker now but if anything more decisive.

"Well I can suggest it to him. If he agrees I will need to make preparations." He smiled slightly, "Wish me luck, My Lady – I'll need it."

Following his departure Lady Alessia moved to Gizela's side, touching the side of her face gently, cold bone against barely blood warmed flesh.

"He moves swiftly to your aid, he is a good servant, a man who knows his place is to be valued – you should reward him."

The voice that spoke in response was bereft of much of the strength it had radiated when she reprimanded Dieter.

"He serves Viktor, he is loyal to him."

The responding laughter of the wight inside her mind was delicate and sweet, the remembered product of a still remembered childhood.

"Fool yourself my dear, but I have watched the interactions of mortals and immortals for nearly a millennia – he may have been loyal to his master, perhaps even remains so – but it is to you that his heart now cleaves. You should use this gift wisely."

"I don't know."

"I do"

She shifted her hand and took Gizela's arm in her own pulling her forwards into the light of the moons,

"In my experience mortal's fall into one of fourteen categories, let me tell you of each and how you might exploit their weaknesses and prosper by their strengths."

The vampire held back, "….and am I just another pawn to be exploited so you can prosper?"

"Do not be naive, I have never claimed to be a martyr – like a daughter of your goddess Shayla the ever weeping – what is her prime stricture again – ah yes, _Always render assistance without judgement, based only on a person's need_."

Sweet laughter again.

"No, I serve the Queen of Mysteries as the Baroness herself once did and I trust will do so again – she asks much of her servants, her "pawns" as you term them, but the rewards too can be great. In the end, the world is too dangerous not to have a patron – even for the creatures we have become….now let us discuss the mortals, who after all will the ones be seeking out _your_ favour."

Xx

"I had hoped not to be disturbed further."

Dieter did not look up as Claudiu entered the room again, his gaze intent on the text he was reading, one blood stained finger tracing the spidery words as they crawled across the parchment. Set to one side was his box of wyrdstone.

The hunchback eased himself painfully into a rickety chair which creaked badly under his not insubstantial weight.

"Well I had hoped to see the master return."

A heavy sigh, "….and this is helping who do what?"

"You have been trying for nearly a month – so what is the problem?"

The book flew across the room and clattered to the stone floor, tearing itself apart in the process.

"DO you not LISTEN you crookback imbecile!" The necromancer was now on his feet, rage suffusing his features.

"Remind me."

Dieter closed his eyes and counted to ten in his mind. "Fine. As I believe I stated before, the damage inflicted was extensive – time and the energies of Shyish are what is required - guided by my knowledge and skill."

Claduiu merely looked down at his nails, a little ragged and also stained with blood, he frowned – they needed cutting.

"Perhaps more energy is needed?"

A snort of derision, "You have been studying the art of necromancy have you?"

"No….in truth it was the suggestion of another, someone more knowledgeable in such matters."

The eyes of the magister narrowed, "The Wight? She has spoken to you?"

"Oh - has she not to you?"

Teeth ground together audibly "What did she say?"

"Well, the thought was that if more magical energy was needed, then we should enter the city where it is more plentiful?"

"Really. That's it?"

"Yes." He cracked his neck, "Would that work?"

"You mean we should move Viktor's helpless body into one of the most dangerous places in the Empire and then spend several hours preparing and completing the ritual? Of course I would need to have my work uninterrupted by witchunters, idiot devotees of the dark gods, skulking ratmen or those mad women who claim to be blessed by Sigmar - never mind the things that just live there."

"Sounds about right."

"Does it, Does it really…." He turned away again and pulled out a different book from a backpack.

"Time has become an issue."

"For who? We serve beings who can live for millennia." Dieter sat back down and muttered as he began to flick carefully through the pages, "Even if they are often more impatient than us poor mortals."

"The baroness, I am reliably informed, is returning soon and should Viktor remain in his current state it is likely that he _and_ any members of his loyal retinue will be replaced."

The necromancer did not look up, "or perhaps just some of us eh?"

"Ahh you have an undertaking from her to that effect, I congratulate you on your foresight."

"I am both useful _and_ rare, you are not."

"Perhaps not as rare as all that."

Slowly he put down the new book, "Explain?"

"I am told that the Baroness has sent for another magister, one I believe you are acquainted with, Wilhelm Klein?"

"By the gods, unseen and uncaring – that is the best she can do? He is a mere dabbler in the arts – he would be lucky to raise a single corpse…"

"And yet, he attends upon her. Would he not seek to replace you?"

The silence in response spoke volumes.

"I'll leave you to think about it then." Claudiu levered himself up with another grimace of pain and began to climb the stairs.

Xx

The rain had come just as preparations had begun, an inauspicious beginning to such an important task. A pair of dead man carrying boxes lumbered to the larger of the two carts, insensitive to the falling water, Dieter scowling at them from the partial shelter of the doorway of the mansion with a third animated corpse holding a leather bag in one fleshless hand, its body clad in hardened leather armour.

The smaller cart had a slightly ragged looking horse to pull it, the skin pealing of its hide in places and the left side of its skull fully exposed to the rain drops. An equally ragged and faded crimson cloth canopy had been erected and was doing an adequate job of sheltering the roughhewn seats below.

Dominating the centre of the other cart was a gilded skull mounted on a metal pole and atop it were a trio of black candles defying the rain. A single skeleton sat beneath it, a spear held in its rain-slick hands, its bones clad in chainmail and the already cracked skull protected by a rusty helmet. No horse, living or dead was at the front.

Once they had deposited the boxes on the second cart, the corpses shambled back to their master and stood waiting for further commands. Dieter, hearing the heavy, laboured steps behind him moved out into the increasing downpour and gestured for his minion to take his bag to the larger cart, he glanced upwards and as the rain quickened he spoke several words creating a minor shield of deflection against the falling water. When his bag was safely stowed, the trio of dead men took their places in front of the vehicle, ready to pull it to their destination.

The two ladies arrived silently, both wearing hooded cloaks and moved quickly to the leading vehicle and took their seats. Claudiu then emerged, holding the front end of the surprisingly rough looking coffin that held Viktor's remains, a final animated corpse carrying the other end. They loaded it onto the second cart and the animated cadaver joined its fellows as the hunchback clambered into the driver's seat of the leading vehicle. As he did so a pair of lean ghouls looped out of the shadows of the building to flank it, the larger of the two flashing a toothy grin at Claudiu. Dieter in contrast only deepened his familiar scowl at their appearance.

Claudiu had to turn his body to see his mistress – "We are ready" he allowed himself a small smile.

"Good, let us waste no more time." She inclined her head slightly.

Slowly and surely the small caravan rumbled out of the courtyard and headed towards the city.


	10. Chapter 10 - Ritual Connections

**Chapter Ten – Ritual Connections**

It was hard to focus on one thing as his eyes now very different, one seeing the material world, the other the alluring dance of the magic that flowed over and through the world. As disconcerting as that was to him, the poor mortal, the thing that inhabited his body and claimed his soul often wanted to look at different things than he did. He closed his left eye and squinted at the capering figures nearby, viewing them in what he knew was the real world, despite the amused smirk he _felt_ within his mind at that concept.

A liquid fell heavily from the world above and crashed down onto the roof of the construct they currently inhabited. It could see the individual drops sparkling as they descended past the openings in the walls – for a moment it mourned the restrictions that they faced, only able to move in a single direction, confined by the petty rules of a too small reality.

Jochen sat nearby, picking at his remaining teeth for the remaining fragments of dog flesh that clung tenaciously to them. He grunted in satisfaction and extracted the sharpened piece of bone before glancing over at the Prophet who was for once not hunched over and muttering to himself.

Several of the other members of the warband were dancing around the fire, sometimes leaping over or even into its depths to allow the sacred energies to caress and burn them, transforming their skin through its harsh touch. The largest and most ungainly of the quartet lumbered about, his body coated in an azure cloak of filthy feathers that did not burn but rather glowed at the touch of the fire.

Slumped heavily in slumber next to him was Maya, her naked body gleaming in the firelight, her contours having returned to their former state since the birth of the child. He was not sure where that was, it had scuttled into the darkness almost as soon as it had emerged, screeching through the myriad of tiny mouths that lined its skeletally thin legs. For a moment he wondered if it would grow stronger in the darkness or simply become more meat then he yawned and tossed the bone away.

As he scratched at the hairy pulsing lump that had begun to form on his arm over the last few weeks, he wondered in turn what the Prophet would taste like - the flavour of his blood, bones and organs, if perhaps they held the power within them, power he could devour and own. Speculatively his other hand caressed the wooden haft of his axe at his other side – the Prophet was strong and he had been forbidden to harm him by their leader – but it was tempting, if only for that reason.

Then the gaze of his potential prey turned towards him and he froze as saw the true predator that lurked behind the flesh mask. Strange colours blossomed in those eyes and an unnatural chill cascaded through his body, causing him to freeze in place, his mind attempted to jerk away but he was unable to break the connection.

"Does he displease you?" He could hear the sorcerer's voice as he addressed the Prophet but only feel the life slowly beginning to thaw out his limbs as the heavy head shifted its attention to the speaker. Sweat began to form on his forehead and body – such a question was often the prelude to bloodshed.

Hagen crouched nearby, his malformed face indistinct in the flickering firelight as the dancers shifted in front of it, leaning forward on the staff, the warpstone gem at its tip for the moment quiescent. Unconsciously it seemed, his too long tongue tasted the air between the two of them, his large nostrils quivering as it probed the air. Nearby, the dancers leapt and cavorted, oblivious.

"No." The Prophet seldom spoke and not always in the same voice – this time it was the man's voice, the one that seemed to suit its appearance. Yet the air cooled and the sounds became flat and hollow, fading away as the rest of the warband ceased their cavorting and turned to face the Prophet in their midst.

"He hungers for meat and power – as do you all." A low rumble of agreement and toothy grins agreed with those words, many eyes remained fixed on him, voracious and full of anticipation.

Without haste, flesh concealing the daemon rose to its feet and his arms reached towards the mould covered ceiling, the left elongating far more than it should be possible, skin tearing and muscle creaking, groaning and wetly glistening as it was revealed.

"It is time that we all fed."

The gathered slaves to darkness quivered in eagerness at his words, in turn rising to their own feet, some stretching up in semi-conscious mimicry, others crouching down in supplication. Hagen did neither, tasting the rising excitement with his flickering tongue as he waited for the Prophet to lead them out into the rain and to the glory that he knew awaited them.

Muscles and sinew unravelled and recoiled themselves, bloodily creating a writhing mass in place of an elongated limb, the crimson cloaked tendrils pulsing with unrealised energy. The Prophet lowered the transformed appendage slowly, deliberately and turned to the gaping burnt out maw that had been the entrance to the building.

He led them out into the torrent, pausing for a moment to look up into the sky, the roiling clouds both dark and tainted with green sickly threads. Even the heavens were still tainted from the devastating impact that had wrecked the city and as the daemon looked up it could see the true reality through the cracks in the small limited world it currently inhabited. Colours and possibilities glittered as it watched, calling it home, but it shook its head for it had much to do before it could return to the glories that it had arisen within.

The Prophet walked in the middle of the street, the rain cascading down its form, steam hissing forth where it touched the writhing tentacles that were now its left arm. Its followers were more circumspect, skulking watchfully from doorway to shattered room, eyes and ears scanning for the other predators abounded in the city. They had been on the edge of the territory and now they were moving into an area claimed by a different cult.

Those who followed the Prophet had named themselves, inspired by their transformations and the god they had sought protection and guidance from, they called themselves the Flameborn. In direct contrast those whose ground they were encroaching upon did not bother with such vanities, they too had sought solace in one of the dark pantheon but Khorne did not care about names, or words – he cared only that the blood flowed.

Bloody handprints were slapped across skulls on rusting spear tips – trophies and challenges to those that would intrude. Gnawed bones, broken open for the marrow often lay nearby, nothing was wasted in the city and most of the permanent inhabitants took protein from whatever they could, whenever they could.

Jochen and the others remained tense as they moved waiting for something to emerge screaming from the shadows but it appeared that the others were elsewhere in their own or others territories. Hagen smiled and glanced around at the others, Tzeentch had obviously blessed the Prophet once again – all was unfolding as it should. Confidence grew with the others as they moved further without incident, despite the glimpses of bone piles – after all they had left much the same in their own dens.

Deeper they pushed until they reached what had once been a large shop, the shutters torn away and lying in splintered remnants in the rain drenched street. More bones were here, not in piles but simply scattered around and flanking the dark doorway ahead were mounted two battered skulls. The left was larger than a human, similar but heavier, stronger – the skull of an ogre whereas the other was that of a great beast, one curling horn remaining in its socket.

The smell from the area was intense, but the Flameborn were equally used to such things, it was even reassuring – like coming home. Without pausing the Prophet strode toward it, if anything his pace increasing as he stepped into the darkness of the open entrance.

Weapons and shields raised, many of the Flameborn followed, some through the doorway, some via what had been the large sales window, one vaulting inside with an undulating whoop, more to reassure himself. The others spread out across the street, watchful in case the followers of Khorne returned. A pair of huge ravens called to each other from a nearby building, talons flexing and cold black eyes fixed on the potential prey below, content at least for the moment to wait.

The interior stank of blood and worse – bones and excrement littered the room, symbols smeared crudely in ichor on the walls, interspersed with claw marks and holes made by malformed fists. The rear of the building was large, rusty meat hooks hanging from the rafters had once held pigs but now skeletons and half devoured bodies of animals and humans hung from them.

Some rain flecked daylight streamed into the room through the many holes in the roof but at one end of the room the light was tainted by something else, a scarlet glow suffusing a ragged pile of skulls. Shards of wyrdstone poked out of eye, nose sockets and jaws – the usual sickly green glow somehow transfigured into a crimson one.

A stream of Brutal words suddenly sounded from the Prophet, causing the nearby members of the warband to flinch back, several with blood exuding from eyes, ears or noses. The possessed man continued to approach the skulls and as he did so the glow grew brighter and blood began to drip from the skulls rapidly congealing into a pool on the already gore covered floor.

The words continued to flow, a seemingly tirade of hatred that built to a crescendo and then ended as suddenly as it had begun with a final profane name – _Khak'akamshy'y_. A deep anticipatory silence held court now, tension building in all the onlookers as the temperature in the room warmed rapidly.

After a few moments the blood pool stirred and moaned, its surface rippling before it was pierced by the tip of a viciously serrated sword that rose menacingly upwards. The talon tipped hand that gripped the hilt was scaly and unlike the sword the blood clung stubbornly to it, glistening in the scarlet light.

Without haste the rest of the lean predatory form emerged, hunched over and with a long horned head, the mouth lined with rows of glittering teeth. As it tilted its wetly head and gleaming white, pupil-less eyes to look at the prophet a long black tongue unfurled and lolled out of one side of its mouth.

"Foolishhh Mortal, this is a placcce of Blood, dedicated to the Lord of SSSSkulls. You will add to my tally sorcerer, for that gift I shall make yourrr ending ssswift." Its voice was grating, like a blade being sharpened.

The voice that replied was shifting moving between that of the shell it wore and that of a woman, "If I was a mortal I am sure I would be delighted, cousin-rival."

The Bloodletter stalked closer, tilting its head again as it inspected the man before it, its blade slowly caressing and slicing into the man's face. Then its tongue lashed out and snaked around its sword, drinking in the blood that it had spilled.

"Does the blood speak to you, Slayer?"

"Yesss Slave of Fate, it is now clear…..I know wwwwhat you are."

"Then you recall the bargain that was-will be made?"

"It wassss, is and will be a pact."

"Good." The Prophet drifted around the manifested daemon and moved towards the skulls as it eyed the members of the Horde.

"Do you neeed allss of them?"

The possessed man did not turn as he dropped to one knee, "No. Take two…..But not the sorcerer…"

The Bloodletter was already moving, its blade slashing as it leapt, the head of a heavily muscled warrior bouncing into the shadows as the Daemon ran through the arterial fountain of blood to its next prey. The tall woman in the doorway screamed as she backed away, slashing at it with a bladed tentacle which skittered off the blood slick scales.

In moments her head was rolling and blood cascading, the cries of alarm and dismay spreading through the other Flameborn. Uncaring the Daemon was now merely focussed on retrieved the skulls, crouching as it began to flense the skin and flesh from its prizes.

Hagen calmed himself, like all of the Flameborn his skin was now cloaked in fear sweat but his heart was quickly returning to normality and his tongue flickered out to taste the air. A dark pillar of constrained rage was nearby but he could also sense golden chains linking it to the Prophet, binding them together for truly the Great One enacted his will through this one.

Then it was fading away, back to the land of blood and wrath for even in the blessed city daemons had to exert themselves to maintain their material form and it did not feel the need to do so.

"We will leave now." The Prophet declared loudly as he shuffled out of the ruined building, his legs now of a noticeably different width and length, muscles curling and shifting as the bones within cracked and reshaped themselves even as he walked.

Pausing only to gather the shards of glittering wyrdstone, Hagen in turn began to usher his followers to follow the chosen one. As they began to move his tongue flickered in and out rapidly, tasting the growing power in the Prophet, his own dark and twisted soul embracing its radiance.

He wondered where they were heading next, mind probing and racing ahead at the possible destinations, after all curiosity was something that the Changer of Ways encouraged. Yet they had not gone far when the chosen one paused again and turned towards Hagen, sensing the question in his mind.

A vision of a vast building formed, swirling and distorting as it burned in a cascade of purple fire, the mortal that scurried inside its heavy walls burning and distorting, melding and transforming into a vast cascade of amorphous flesh. Inside its walls a cloaked figure continued to inspect the multitude of tomes and books that lined the walls, even as many crackled and burned.

Words screamed off the pages, plaintive and clam, desperate and disdainful, the long silent declarations of the authors and their characters now competed to be heard even as they were consumed. Animal voices and sounds wove in and out of the clamour as the songs, prayers and hymns to the divine blended into a wall of noise, discordantly melding with competing symphonies and poetry.

Minor manifestations of the will of Hagen's god emerged from the flaming flesh, capering and bounding around the once proud cathedral to knowledge. A tubular daemon added to the growing inferno with gouts of purple flame from its elongated fleshy arms.

The Great Library of Mordheim awaited them…..

Xx

As they walked, the attention of the daemon wondered, drifted away from the material universe and the flesh that it wore. The body still moved to where it needed to be, but slowly the mind and soul of Dregeiz emerged, tentative and fearful that its awareness would be crushed back into darkness.

His body walked steadily and he could feel the air drifting across his flesh, the boots and trousers torn and discarded by the mutations that had been triggered by the entity that was within him. The smell of blood, sweat and worse was strong in his nostrils, almost overwhelming in its potency and bile rose within his throat which he barely managed to suppress, coughing and spluttering. Yet serving vampire lords meant that he had a much stronger stomach than most men and he rallied.

Cautiously he tried to look about him, and after a moment part of his body responded, his neck muscles creaking dangerously. Monstrous things walked alongside and around him, twisted and deformed but again his previous service to his undead masters meant that he had seen such things before.

What sent a new wave of nausea through his body was the occasional vision shift, where one moment he would see malformed, mutated creatures of flesh and bone, the next they would be merely spluttering balls of soul stuff, pulsing with tainted energy and linked to something vast and unseen by gossamer threads.

He tried to speak but all that emerged was the undulating cry of a hunting bird of prey which only set off a chorus of roars, screams and rumbling growls from the others around him. Disconcertingly he could not only not only hear them but feel them, his skin absorbing the sounds and processing them in ways he could only partially interpret.

Then without warning a great crushing weight descended on his soul and mind as the daemon reasserted control and he screamed internally, all connection to his physical body severed and removed. At this, the entity paused and a small part of it addressed itself to the soul of Dregeiz.

"Do you, will you regret your bargain-plea flesh-thing?"

"Yes, I…I did not….know….that…"

"You will not…. did not ask….."

"You promised to save me."

"True," the daemon focussed a little more of its attention to the conversation, composing its speech, thorugh and processing patterns to better allow the limited creature of the material world to understand.

"It was unclear on what you required, little creature. Your body still lives and that which touches the realm eternal is intact, bonded. Rejoice! For together you will still experience wonders that would not normally be beyond you. Consider this, embrace what the gifts that have enhanced your flesh and anticipate what is to come."

It paused and allowed its words to be absorbed.

"If this is not what you want then do not despair – this limited existence will be ended soon by your reckoning."

Silence lasted and the daemon began to withdraw when the fleshling spoke again, capturing its attention once more.

"What are you doing?"

"There are a variety of interactions with your little world are, were, will be undertaken, in… the … future, the past and these…. What do you call them….Ah yes moments. Interesting word….it is helpful."

"What are you doing…. now?"

"At this…..,Moment, the other flesh-creatures are moving to a knowledge temple that has been blessed with the influence of the Great Architect. There are bargains that are to be made, that were completed."

"The Great Library then?"

"A designation that serves just as well."

"I …I know that….many have died in that place"

"Yes, and many more mortals will meet their physical end."

"Death is just another moment of transition for you – you should not fear it."

"I do not want to die!" His mental shout was closer to panic now.

"Fear it or embrace as you will. After all it is part of your strange inevitable linear existence." The mental voice of the daemon was biting but variable, its statement as convoluted with competing voices as it was in the material world.

It was true, he had spent long in the service of those that disdained death as merely a change from limitation to power, but he had no wish to perish. He had seen the ghosts of those that had been raised and often little was left of what they had been.

Even the lords and ladies of the night were not exactly what had been when they arose as vampires. He knew a little of the art of necromancy but enough to know that even adepts did not truly know the mysteries of death – maybe only dread Nagash knew – or perhaps only Morr himself.

Morr was not a god that he thought of much, a name that he had only heard used in curses or frightened whispers.

The Daemon allowed a wave of pleasure and amusement to cascade through itself and the mortal it had claimed.

"Never born, Never die….That what you call a Daemon is not subject to such intriguing concepts as death. Once you have died, then you will understand this more clearly….."

"Ughhh, Wh..what could such as you want at the Library."

"It is a minor extrusion into your little world, something that allows those of the true realm to manifest more of their glory, their true nature…although even then only a single paltry aspect can flower in such barren soil."

"There are plans and consequences to facilitate and confirm, schemes and assignations to accomplish – all things that might have been and will yet be. Do you understand fleshling – can you understand?"

Its interest, for the moment, had become genuine, an intriguing infection of the material world a part of it considered. The effort required to meld some degree of its intelligence to think like a mortal was not inconsiderable and the feeling not unpleasant, as it understood the concept.

Other parts, aspects of that which the daemon was but a mere speck peered through it, watched and waited, aware of what would be but intriguing by the experience of watching it unfold.

Xx


End file.
